Late Hero Academia
by Yuilhan
Summary: "Have you ever thought about doing something more with your life?" Hajime couldn't say she had, truthfully. And at this point, Hajime thought that the world outside of her Aunt's store, located in the back end of Hosu, may not be safe anymore. (Or, due to the events of Kamino Ward and All Might's final words, Yuuei opens up a Heroics Night School.)
1. Origins - Itou Hajime

**A/N [22/08/2018] :** To celebrate five years of reading and writing Fan Fiction, I've worked on this fic. Hope you enjoy it – let me know what you think so far. Come natter with me on Tumblr! I'm **yuilhan-writes-things** , or you can drop me a comment below.

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 **A HUUUUUUUUGE thank you to** _InsertImaginativeNameHere_ **for Beta-ing this first chapter for me. Words cannot describe how thankful I am, truly.**

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 **LATE HERO ACADEMIA**

 ** _CHAPTER ONE_**

 **ORIGINS: [MIDORIYA IZUKU] ITOU HAJIME**

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"Have you ever thought about doing something more with your life?" Hajime's Aunt questioned, her voice echoing out from the storeroom to where Hajime was stood behind the cash register and the glass cabinet they kept the more expensive pieces of costume jewellery locked away in.

Hajime couldn't say she had, truthfully. There weren't a lot of opportunities for people like her – a fact that her Aunt knew. She had narrowly dodged becoming part of the growing statistic for Hajime's kind in early adolescence, so at twenty-two Hajime felt she was already pushing her luck.

As it stood, she was in a comfortable situation. Her Aunt had taken her in at the age of five. She'd graduated through mediocre schools – the only ones willing to take her, or rather, the one's struggling with funding and looking to bump up their student intake with marginal levels of prejudice present. Hajime had done well enough in her studies to continue and pursue a useless degree at University. She was well-read (however reluctantly) and despite her situation, could probably wangle herself a respectable occupation should she try.

Yet there Hajime was, working in her Aunt's vintage and thrifted clothing store, stood behind the counter day in, day out, sorting items and modelling for photos to use for the store's online sales, and even watching out for the weirder customers as they wandered around the shop floor.

The guy wasn't bad looking; dark hair, tall – if poor – posture, and a set of muscles that couldn't quite be contained inside his white tank top. Even without sleeves, the garment strained across his body. He was stood in the shoe section currently and eying up two different pairs of boots. Hajime was sure the man, who had either spectacular physique or clothes two sizes too small for him, didn't have, or was missing most of his nose. Even though the mop of dark unruly curls hanging over his forehead did a (poor) valiant job of hiding the missing appendage, she could tell.

"Have you though?" Her Aunt pestered.

"Sorry Auntie Miwa, I need to serve this customer!" **[1]**

The no-nosed wonder had finally settled on a pair of chunky heeled military-style boots; the more expensive of his two options, if Hajime wasn't mistaken. The sturdy leather had hardly been broken in – untested by the arches and quirks of the previous owners' feet. Neither were the shoes creased by the way ankles could rotate and hinge to make the heels of the boots yielding to the stride and supple. The buckles, laces, and straps looping around the calves and uppers were pristine and had hardly needed buffing when Hajime had pulled them from the store room a week ago.

She had, however, wiped a suspicious looking stain from the cleat-like spikes protruding from the toes of the boots, but had thought nothing of it at the time. Miwa had handed her worse to steam-clean before.

"Y'know," Hajime drawled conversationally to her customer with a smirk. "I'm almost sad to see this pair go. They're pretty killer – suited for total badassery. Not something I could pull off though."

The customer paid in silence. Hajime's smirk drooped as he looked her in the eye. His mop of curls shifted momentarily as his gaze moved from the till's display screen to Hajime's face, and she froze.

Then, the no-nosed wonder snorted and the tension broke. "Killer… yes."

Hajime placed his boots into a printed paper bag with extra efficiency. Anything to get him out of the store quicker. The boots quivered in the grasp of her shaking fingers.

"So?" Her Aunt continued, clothing draped over her arm and a pair of bedazzled sandals hanging from her left hand, as she emerged from the crowded store room. "Have you?"

"No," Hajime returned, watching the customer leave. The unsettling feeling he'd evoked within her was yet to subside, and Hajime bunched her unsteady hands into fists.

At this point, Hajime thought that the world outside of her Aunt's store, located in the back end of Hosu, may not be safe anymore.

* * *

This story begins in much the same manner as one we already know.

Naturally, it all starts in China – Qingqing City, to be precise – with the birth of a luminescent baby. Within an incredibly short period of time this strange emergence of abnormal power became less of a medical novelty, and more of an inescapable reality. For those without these powers, or 'Quirks' as the had come to be known, the change was more of a harsh wake-up call to a society which had been shifting subtly for years. There was nothing to be afraid of considering differences now, because in truth, everyone was different these days.

One might think, with how this story is shaping so far, that perhaps it is to be a long-winded rhetoric on the nuances of the Quirk-Privileged against the Quirkless – or that a dissection of Hero and Villain politics may be the main focus of this tale.

It is not.

Unlike Izuku Midoriya's stubborn optimism, determination, and skill – with which the young teen shaped his future as the greatest Hero of all time – this story begins with a far flatter premise. The foundations of this tale take root not in the midst of sneers and snickers while Midoriya pillows his head in his arms in shame. It begins in the bedroom on one twenty-something woman who would, in fact, not notice or care if the whole schematic of Heroics collapsed overnight.

No, this is no longer the origin story of one Izuku Midoriya, or even anyone closely connected to the boy. This is a tale of reluctance, otherness, and lassitude. It begins, not with a bang or even Midoriya's anxious whimpers, but with a gentle –

"POP!"

One of the buttons from her shirt popping away from its cotton confines and slapping against the full-length mirror of her room, really should have been the first sign for Hajime Itou that her day was already starting off badly.

Sighing, Hajime dolefully eyed the white button on the floor, but made no attempt to pick it up.

Sticking her head around her bedroom door, she called to her Aunt down the hallway. "Do we have more clean shirts ironed?"

"No," was the quick, curt response.

"Well I need one," Hajime grumbled, lumping down the cluttered hall to find her Aunt. Or a needle and thread. Or anything else to wear really.

One would think, with living above a vintage and thrifted clothing store, that there would be plenty Hajime could wear. That shirt had been her last clean and undamaged one, however. The rest were coming loose at the seams or had several fixings missing. Hajime hadn't been able to find the buttons for those and stripping off the remaining ones only to sew on a new set seemed like a waste of her time.

As she entered the kitchen, and therein found her Aunt Miwa already nursing her third cup of coffee that morning, Hajime said, "I don't understand why this always happens."

Hajime's Aunt's eyes followed the line of buttons on her niece's shirt from collar to hemline, noting how the one button that had gone rogue had been settled in a most unfortunate place. "I can. You need bigger shirts."

Hajime grunted, deciding her shirt wasn't worth the hassle yet and helping herself to some breakfast. "Sounds too much like hard work," Hajime replied, eying Miwa expectantly. "I'd only have to take in the darts even if I did."

That was, unfortunately, Hajime Itou's problem. Most things to her sounded too much like hard work. Hajime would be perfectly content to let the world burn around her, because she'd be warm throughout the cremation (both she and her Aunt wouldn't have to work to pay the winter heating bill either) and maybe tasks she hated doing would no longer exist or have a place if they'd all been burnt to a crisp?

Hajime could only hope.

"Get a needle and the white thread from the tin," Aunt Miwa groaned, sipping from her coffee cup. She'd decided that it was still too early, and that she was far too coffee-deprived to even suggest Hajime should repair the garment herself. That was a verbal battle Miwa knew she would lose. "I'll sew it back on."

Hajime, reluctantly, did as her Aunt had asked. The bizarre thought that maybe her Aunt would scoff and tell her not to bother with going into work had crossed her mind, but alas, that was not to be. It would have been great to change back into her pyjamas. She dumped the rusting metal biscuit tin (and wasn't that misleading, that it was full of sewing equipment and not cookies or shortbread?) on the kitchen table.

"Where's the button?"

"Oh, it's in my room," Hajime nodded indifferently, stripping off her shirt and grabbing another round of softly toasted sliced bread. The Itou's didn't prefer their toast burnt, and obsessively went out of their way to ensure each slice was perfectly golden.

Hajime missed her Aunt's incredulous expression as she slathered strawberry jam over the slice, and somehow managed to spatter the condiment across her now-exposed stomach. Miwa ended up retrieving the bottom herself while Hajime, oblivious to her Aunt's ire, ate on.

"I've got another shipment coming into the shop later," Her Aunt chattered as she looped thread through the eye of a fine needle. Hajime hummed blithely and took another bite of her toast. "I'll need your help posting some of the better stuff online."

"Sure," Hajime yawned, swiping at a glob of jam stuck to her lip.

Five harried minutes later, Hajime was – unfortunately – dressed once more. Her Aunt shoved a box of clothing to be sorted into her arms, and the shop keys, before she ushered Hajime out the door; telling her she had at least twenty-five minutes try and get to the container unpacked and the items inside sorted onto racks before they opened up the shop for the day.

With an extremely put-out expression clearly painted on her face, Hajime hefted the box in her grip upwards against her chest so that she wouldn't drop it. Her Aunt wished her a safe journey down the fire escape, and that was that.

Exiting the door to their apartment – situated at the back of the building where they lived due to the lower floor acting as commercial premises – Hajime made her way down the rickety metal steps and platforms into the alleyway bellow. She wondered if her Aunt would kill her if she dragged her feet and made herself late for opening time.

Probably, was the correct answer. Hajime's Aunt had rather good aim and a strong throwing arm. All it would take was one well-lobbed belonging of theirs or item from the shop below beaning Hajime on the head for her life to end.

It had bad enough when her Aunt had gone through yet another ninja-themed anime phase and insisted on throwing things randomly at her niece at unexpected moments. Hajime had concluded that her aunt was either hell-bent on turning her into a ninja, exercising her secret sadistic side, or had perhaps hoped having things flung at her repeatedly and randomly would startle Hajime out of her lethargy.

It hadn't, but Hajime was definitely better at dodging now. Bruises were an uncomfortable menace she disliked having on her skin, and if simple avoidance, well, avoided bruises, she'd damn well shift out of the way.

As she rounded the corner and neared the front of her Aunt's store, Hajime pointedly ignored a (late) Yuuei student dashing to the subway; a brown-haired teen with jittery fingers and feet, which he probably he tapped in anticipation on the tops of his thighs and the train's carriage's flooring respectively – much to the ire of other passengers. She watched how he darted down the flight of steps at the station's entrance, no doubt going to fumble with his train pass and miss his ride as he hit the electronic gates.

Hajime grunted, and heaved the box (slowly slipping down her front) upwards to sit comfortably against her hip while she tried to unlock the shop's door. She nearly dropped everything and wobbled uncertainly on her feet as the door finally swung open.

"Like I'm going to make it," Hajime mumbled, checking her watch and wiping her feet on the shop's door mat. "I haven't been on time all year."

Hajime spoke the truth. Running a family-owned business, unless the person in charge was a stickler for punctuality, usually meant that your opening and closing times were a little off most days unless you ran a chain of stores. Putting Hajime in charge of the former was a recipe for disaster, seeing as she had little to no motivation for anything, but Miwa wasn't exactly a morning person herself and had no desire to run more than one shop at a time.

It also did not help that it felt like a waste of time opening the store too.

Up until a few months ago – late April, really – Hosu hadn't been a bad area to live. A little scummy, and really not the ideal place for bohemian, artisan shops like Aunt Miwa's, but decent. Since that day with he no-nosed customer, Hajime just hadn't been comfortable living where she did. They hardly saw their neighbours. Any Heroes that patrolled kept to themselves or travelled in large groups to prevent being singled out and hacked to pieces.

No one stepped inside the bright yellow painted thrift store or were drawn in by the bright red and black typography stating 'Ensō'. **[2]** Not even the more outlandish vintage pieces Miwa had acquired over the years could tempt people out of their houses, however Ensō's online business was booming.

The unease in the air made Hajime worried in a way she hadn't felt since she was nearly six and starting school with people who would undoubtedly not like her for what she was. The world just didn't seem like a great place anymore; Japan as a whole felt tired and ragged around the edges, like an overly buffed piece of leather that was losing its pigment with time and wear. Plus, there was a new threat for everyone to worry about, according to Yuuei.

Already within the first few weeks of Yuuei's term time, Hajime had sat through the dinner time news harping on about Yuuei's latest batch of Hero hopefuls. Class 1-A in particular had been offered the metaphorical short end of the stick, and had apparently battled against invading villains, and then each other at the (barbaric) annual sports festival. Not to mention there was a Hero killer loose on the streets.

Hajime couldn't be bothered to eat her dinner that night when the news anchor announced that the Hero Ingenium had been severely injured by a Vigilante – or was he to be classified as a Villain now? – by the name of 'Stain', roughly two blocks away from where Hajime and her Aunt Miwa lived. She felt sick. It was a hard reminder that danger lurked around every corner and resurrected an insecurity within Hajime that she thought she had buried long ago.

How did people live like that? Hajime wondered whilst unpacking the box of clothing. Without uncertainty and their little oblivious bubble never being popped? Did you have to move to the boonies to live like that?

Hajime heard the ornate bell attached to the shop's front door jingle and a rumble of coins inside a metal, lockable container. She set down a dainty pair of satin kitten heels to the side (they were clean enough to be priced and put on the shelf that very morning) and straightened to nod at Miwa as the older woman made her way behind the counter. Her Aunt had arrived with the tin they kept the till's change in, and a handful of notes they made the day before but hadn't banked.

Most of Miwa's money was made from online sales these days, but she kept the store almost like a homage to previous decades' fashion trends. Miwa also had a healthy distrust of banks, seeing as there were robbery attempts occurring every time one so much as blinked. The majority of said attempts were foiled by a Pro Hero attending to the scene, but Miwa hid the meagre earnings the physical store brought in inside the removable (and lockable) cash register draw and disguised it underneath a pile of scrap fabric in her extensive wardrobe.

In all seriousness though, living without a Quirk made you more susceptible to danger – even from those society thought had harmless powers. According to Government statistics, Hajime should have topped herself when she was around fourteen like the rest of her decreasing demographic, but she had not. Miwa would never let her suffer that way, Hajime knew, and sometimes it felt like people with Quirks were the ones to be pitied for their idiocy and their pride in a dodgy genetic mutation – not Hajime and her recessive genes.

Bigots were still idiots no matter the generation, or if they had fancy new Quirks to show off with. Hajime wanted no part in it despite what society thought of her and if it tried to butt its beaky nose in. She would be happy though if no one decided to pester her at all for the rest of her life; quite comfortable with the routine she shared with her Aunt.

After a quiet day stood behind the register once more, with the occasional need to straighten up the clothing racks or dust off some of the display items, Hajime turned the key in the front door's lock with a relieved sigh.

"Drop the shutters but leave the once covering the door up," Aunt Miwa told her, reopening the door Hajime had just locked. "We're not done yet."

So, Hajime dropped the venetian blinds – or shutters as Miwa liked to call them – inside the windows while she waited patiently while her Aunt retrieved her camera, tripod, and a moveable photographer's light from their apartment on the floor above. She'd forgotten that her Aunt had told her they would be photographing new arrivals for the online store.

"Here, clean yourself up," Miwa threw a pouch full of makeup at her niece, which Hajime, for once, did not dodge. Her shoulders merely sagged with understanding; she wouldn't be getting away from this easily, and it would be best to just do as her Aunt asked. "Oh, and take these-"

A roll of thick crepe bandages bounced off of Hajime's chin, and she rubbed at her tingling lips. "What am I supposed to do with these?" She asked, eying the roll – now on the ground.

"Flatten the girls," Aunt Miwa snorted, eying Hajime's rather prominent chest.

Apparently, that was a trait Hajime had gained from her mother – Miwa's sister – but that Miwa had missed out on completely. In the latter's own opinion, that was totally fine. She'd rather not have Hajime's struggle to find decently fitting and modest clothes. The trick was to find garments that still clung and supported the body yet yielded enough space and movements for Hajime's top-heavier frame, which wasn't easy.

Dropping down the third shutter over the plain glass door, and effectively blocking out most of Hosu's passing trade from watching her undress, Hajime stripped and began to bind her breasts flatter to her chest. Not enough to cause her pain or permanent damage, but just right so that she could easily fit (and more importantly) not damage Miwa's acquisitions. It helped that Hajime was tall and lean, and with a little bit of posing, clever makeup, binding, and Miwa's camera skills, the pictures more or less focused on the clothes and not who was wearing them. Hajime was the perfect mannequin.

"I think we're done," Aunt Miwa said finally, placing the lens cap firmly onto her camera and powering it down. Hajime slumped in relief. "Don't bother getting changed, we need milk."

"And you couldn't have told me this during my lunch break?" Hajime questioned.

"We had milk during your lunch break – then you went and fixed yourself a bowl of cereal," Miwa retorted testily. "It's a five-minute walk Hajime, surely you can manage that?"

Of course Hajime could, she just didn't want to.

"Fine." Hajime plucked a couple hundred yen from the cash box – yet to be locked and taken back upstairs to safety because the store hadn't officially been closed up for the night. "Do you need me here still, or…?"

Miwa waved her off.

The streets were quiet as Hajime walked alone. Her thin, lacy shirt not enough to hold back the faint chill in the air. The tinkling of the coins in the pockets of her wide-legged trousers, the irritating swish of her hair ruffling against her shoulders, and the methodical clack of the heels Miwa had forced her into. These were the only sounds around her until she hit the main streets.

It wasn't a five-minute walk really; Hajime's Aunt had been exaggerating slightly about the swiftness of the assigned errand. Trying to cross the street, Hajime was bowled over by a boy in blue with dual coloured hair – red and white. She toppled over in the middle of the striped crossing, and the boy's muttered apology was swallowed by the irritate blaring of car horns when the lights turned from red to green.

Bowing apologetically to the drivers she was blocking, Hajime tottered unsteadily to her feet and brushed herself down while safely crossing to the side of the road she needed to be on. She wished she'd challenged her Aunt further, because now there would be the slight possibility Hajime could have ripped the vintage set of trousers. Her bindings were uncomfortably working themselves loose with every step, and Hajime could feel the bruises forming on her backside from her hefty landing.

The shoes she would have to keep if they couldn't be cleaned up; a nasty black scrape now ran along the blocky cork heel and platform.

Hajime kept on walking. It wasn't too far now.

"Ma'am, you can't go this way," someone called to her.

Hajime walked on.

"Ma'am-"

"I need to buy milk," Hajime told him shortly noticing how the top of his head only reached below her chin in these heels. They danced around one another – Hajime taking a step to the right, the Hero one to the left and blocking her advancement.

"Ma'am, we're going to be evacuating civilians from this point," the man – a Hero – told her, positioning himself in front of her once more. His blue helmet, adorned with fin-like protrusions along the top, was distracting. Hajime scowled at being stopped yet again but didn't deny she was curious. She wondered if he had a water Quirk; Heroes liked to convey their powers through costuming choices, right? "Ma'am there's a fire-"

That was why it had been so quiet then, and why motorists were so eager to leave.

Hajime jutted her chin out stubbornly. "I still need to buy milk, and it seems fine out."

"Ma'am look up."

The sky was ablaze. Smoke hugged the top of skyscrapers in a choke hold. Hajime's mouth popped open, and wordlessly she closed it again. The Hero shuffled nervously on his feet, but Hajime was transfixed by the burning skyline.

How had she not noticed that before?

She blinked. "I still need to buy milk though."

"Ma'am, it's dangerous – I would ask my intern to guide you to a safe area but he's missing," the Hero told her.

"Did he have red and white hair?" The Hero shook his head. Well, Hajime thought she'd ask just in case. The Hero wasn't going to budge until she moved. It looked as though Hajime was going to be taking the scenic route to another convenience store. "C'mon then, Mr Hero."

"I am Manual."

"Hajime."

Manual looked up at her sceptically. With what Hajime supposed was meant to be a reassuring smile, Manual said, "Is that what the kids say to each other these days, instead of 'Nice to meet you.'" **[3]**

"No, my name is Hajime." Just how old did this Pro Hero think Hajime was? Was it the bound breasts that made her look like a gangly pre-teen or had she missed the punchline entirely?

"Oh."

Manual had her walk quicker, grasping onto her forearm and pushing her forwards with a gloved hand against her back; Hajime presumed his stress levels were just short of him tucking her under his arm and bolting away from the encroaching fire.

"This really isn't ideal," he stressed, and Hajime found she could relate. If she had her way she'd have been asleep by now. "There's been an attack, and Iida – my intern – is missing. You're safer here with me than going it alone though."

Manual thought rather highly of himself, Hajime thought. Or perhaps there was some truth in good old safety in numbers?

"We've been putting fires out everywhere while Endeavour fights off these monsters, but it's really not an ideal strategy," Manual babbled. Was he really supposed to be telling her all of this?

They'd reached the shadier streets, not too far away from Aunt Miwa's store. A loud crash and an explosion of ice from one alleyway had Manual (with Hajime along for the ride, seeing as he still had hold of her arm) darting towards the commotion.

Was the milk even worth it anymore? Hajime was in walking distance of her Aunt's store, and she was certain that unless her relative turned on the radio or the television (unlikely, as Miwa had got into the odd habit of cooking without distraction – that meant music, background noise, and even Hajime were banned from the kitchen while she was working) then she wouldn't know about a potential evacuation notice.

"Mister Manual, my Aunt-"

"Iida?!" Manual bellowed; two parts enraged, a third relieved.

The mysterious 'Iida', a spectacled teen in boxy armour who sported a bloodied leg, the kid who'd bowled Hajime over earlier, and a tiny forest child with green hair and an even tackier green jumpsuit, were emerging from the alleyway with two other bodies in tow. One was dressed in tan, feathers, and fringing, and clutched at a sluggishly bleeding stab wound. The other was bound and likely unconscious. The long tails of his mask's ties trailed along the ground as the three teens hefted him out of the alley and onto the street.

"Is that-" Manual looked like he was going to have an aneurysm. Hajime pet him on his shoulder, which was easily in reach while she wore those heels. "Is that the Hero Killer?"

Hajime took a step forwards, shaking off the Pro Hero as he tried to hold her back. "I'd recognise those boots anywhere," she muttered, and sure enough, they were the same pair she'd sold to the no-nosed wonder weeks ago. "Oh my."

"Miss Hajime, please come away from there," Manual pleaded.

Hajime was going to respond, but then more Pro Heroes dropped to the sidewalk from out of nowhere and she was slammed into a wall.

That was going to leave a mark.

Something cracked within her.

Hajime wanted to scream, but all that burbled from her lips was a pathetic whimper.

Her eyes closed to the sight of rising flames, soot, a shaky feeling of uncertainty, and a godawful screech. With a final hurrah, her fatigued eyelids shot open in horror before the pain claimed her consciousness once more.

Aunt Miwa was going to kill her if the vintage lace shirt Hajime was wearing had been ripped.

* * *

"Why didn't you listen to Mister Manual when he told you to evacuate?" Aunt Miwa, while mad at her for damaging the store's property – though technically it had been Miwa herself to authorise Hajime in doing so – was more furious over the fact that Hajime had broken two ribs and cracked three others even though it was not her fault she'd made close acquaintance with a wall.

In Hajime's defence, neither she, Manual, the kids, their captives, or any other Heroes that had eventually turned up hadn't expected a giant winged mutant descending from the heavens and wreaking havoc.

Its first victim in the Hosu back alleyways had been Hajime Itou's ribs, and then it had taken one of the foetus-Heroes (as Hajime liked to call then when had Manual tried to explain what had happened and internships to her on pain meds) captive. Then the no-nosed wonder had leapt into action as well. It was all very confusing, and Hajime suspected the morphine the nurses had given her wasn't completely out of her system yet, even days later.

"And what were you wearing, Hajime?"

"Gucci," she mumbled. That was going to affect their takings for a bit. Miwa's regulars loved an outdated joke from the Before Centuries just as much as they liked a well-known brand or Hero merchandise. Designer lace was nothing to be sniffed at, and it brought in the money for Miwa whenever she made an addition to the store.

"We can't keep living like this," Miwa sighed, dropping into one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs in the hospital room. The Heroes had pulled in a few favours, so Hajime was in her own private room rather than on a ward full of nosy, noisy patients. Something about confidentiality, or her witnessing something she wasn't supposed to regarding the kids and the Heroes buttering her up with preferential medical treatment.

Hajime couldn't care less, because her ribs were throbbing. When were the nurses coming back to kick her Aunt from the room and to administer more medication? She hoped it was soon.

Miwa wasn't done yet though: "I can't keep living each day wondering if you'll come back to me in a matchbox – all because you can't defend yourself."

This was it then. This was the moment Miwa Itou kicked her niece out of the apartment, fired her from working in the store, and told Hajime she could no longer care for a Quirkless relative. It was like being five again, and Hajime saw her mother – expression cold and prying her father's protective hands from Hajime's shoulders as she pushed her eldest child into the care of her sister – supersede herself onto Miwa's features.

Nothing remained of that abandoned child other than the dregs of trauma and her first name. Hajime was an Itou, as she had always been for the last seventeen years. Was that really coming under threat now?

"When you're healed up…" Hajime held her breath. Miwa was going to leave her. "When you're all healed up, I'm sending you to a self-defence class or something."

Oh. Hajime's mind blanked.

In that case, she hoped her ribs never healed.

It was a relief to know that Miwa wasn't sick of her just yet though, and Hajime blamed the flustered tears streaming from her eyes and her sniffly, snotty nose on an adverse reaction to whatever it was the doctors had decided to sedate her with.

"I'm sorry," she whispered to her Aunt, swallowing a lump in her throat.

Miwa scowled. "You've got nothing to apologise for. But the lace is coming out of your paycheque."

Instead of opening her mouth and arguing that Miwa didn't pay her as such, more like deposited an allowance into her bank account (the instalments growing larger the older Hajime became) every month and took whatever Hajime owed her from that. Miwa didn't charge her for rent, so long as Hajime – unenthusiastically – completed most of the housework or ran errands for her; though if anything was damaged that her Aunt could have made a profit from, then Hajime was to reimburse the cost.

"I didn't get any milk though," Hajime finished weakly, pushing down her childish fears. Of course her Aunt wouldn't wash her hands of her. If she had been like Hajime's birth parents, she would have done so already – or when Hajime was eighteen and she couldn't claim tax credits anymore.

"As if I could care about milk when you're in the hospital!" Miwa barked, much to the dismay of Hajime's growing headache. Crying always left her drained, and messy crying even more so. She hadn't sobbed like this since middle school when Aunt Miwa and her last toxic fiancée duked it out in the street, and she'd resolved never to cry like that again if she could help it.

Stupid pain meds.

"Maybe the saying should change then," Hajime muttered, almost to herself. "Maybe it should be 'No point crying over no milk' instead?"

"They've got you hooked up on the good stuff, haven't they?" Aunt Miwa finally uttered in understanding. Hajime could only nod.

* * *

 **[1]** "Miwa" - a Japanese name meaning "beautiful harmony", and "three rings."

 **[2]** "Ensō" – meaning 'circle', and strongly associated with Zen practice.

 **[3]** "Hajimemashite" / "はじめまして" – sort of like saying, 'Nice to meet you,' when being introduced to people. It's a play on words, with "Hajime" meaning "first" or "start", and Manual really not coping well around kid(s / Iida.) There's probably a better way for this pun to work, but I got nothing.

* * *

 **Musical Inspiration for this Chapter:**

"Till The World Falls – 7" Version" – Nile Rogers and CHIC, feat. Mura Masa, Cosha, and Vic Mensa, 'Till The World Falls (7" Version)'


	2. Bungled Social Interaction

**A/N [31/08/2018] :** My thanks once more to the wonderful _**InsertImaginativeNameHere**_ for Beta-ing. Hope you enjoy your hols, bud! I think I've got the uploading schedule sorted for this fic too. Fridays at 10PM (GMT) every fortnight sounds like an okay time. Also, to clarify, all names read as first name-surname. So, 'Hajime Itou' not 'Itou Hajime'. Sorry for any confusion.

* * *

 **LATE HERO ACADEMIA**

 **CHAPTER TWO**

 **IN WHICH HAJIME BUNGLES BASIC HUMAN INTERACTION**

* * *

"I don't understand why he keeps coming into my hospital room," Hajime sulked during visiting hours that evening.

The Pro Hero Manual had swapped out his afternoon patrol for an evening shift just so that he could reach afternoon visiting hours for the hospital Hajime was (still) trapped in. One of her ribs that had been shattered on impact with the wall – with Hajime having hit the bricks in a banana-like curve, the peak of the arc being just where her ribs were situated – wasn't setting well at all naturally.

Emotionally and mentally Hajime felt fine, and the nursing staff couldn't keep her medicated for much longer. To fill the moments that would have been occupied with hallucinogenic reveries, Manual had taken it upon himself to entertain Hajime with benign conversation in the afternoons. Sometimes he brought her flowers.

It was driving Hajime insane.

Her room looked like a Chapel of Rest.

Aunt Miwa, sat in her customary hospital chair (which was just as uncomfortable as it had been from day one), snorted. With waning interest, she flicked through the pages of an outdated gardening magazine one of the pleasanter nurses had given Hajime to read. After all, Miwa's interests lay in clothing, not succulents.

"I think Mister Manual is caring for you in the only way he knows how," Miwa stated, closing the magazine and slatting it down atop Hajime's scratchy bedsheets. Just when Hajime got used to a set and had worn away at the prickly feeling the fabric evoked from her skin, the ward staff came to change them over.

It was infuriating.

"It's been weeks – why is he still turning up?" Hajime protested. No one else had bothered to come and check up on her at all, so why should Manual have felt the need?

"Well, I think that it's lovely you made a friend."

 _Yeah, while my ribs were shattered trying to buy you_ _milk_ , Hajime thought to herself. Wisely, she kept her mouth shut. Miwa had a look in her eyes. One that said, 'Don't push me' or 'I'm planning something.'

"It's because I'm Quirkless, isn't it?" Hajime prattled. "Because they're supposed to protect people like me, and they obviously didn't do a good job of it-"

"Hey, I thought we got past this when you were fourteen and had your 'I hate the world' phase," Miwa interjected. To be fair, Hajime was now twenty-two and still despised most people on the planet. "Once you're out of here you're not going to need Pros to protect you, if you remember?"

Hajime wondered, if she shook her head convincingly enough, would her Aunt would forget about self-defence lessons altogether. It was unlikely. Miwa would just tell her all about it again and then start to search around the neighbourhood for dojos who'd take older students on. Thankfully, after years of conditioning, Hajime at least knew how to dodge decently enough.

A knock sounded from the door to Hajime's hospital room. A cough followed. Manual's familiar fin-adorned helmet came into view as the Hero popped his head around the ajar door.

"Am I intruding?" He asked.

"Not at all," said Miwa, rising from her seat and patting the back of the chair. "In fact, I was just going to get a coffee. Do you both want anything? No? No. Okay, I'm going now."

"Bye," Hajime muttered distractedly, watching the IV she'd been hooked up to steadily dripping through the cumbersome tubing connected to her hand.

"I thought I'd come and see you again." Manual took the seat Miwa had previously been occupying, folding his gloved hands atop one another in his lap. "A group of Heroes – including myself – have been given an assignment. Have you seen the news lately?"

Unfortunately, Hajime had. It was Class 1-A dominating the headlines once more. Yuuei had confirmed that one of their students had been snatched by infiltrating Villains. The Pros were going to do everything within their power to nab poor Katsuki Bakugou back, but it was taking a few days to organise everything. Hajime just wished she didn't have to hear about how Yuuei's upcoming shining star was probably being corrupted each time the news bulletin looped on itself every eight minutes or so.

It was either the news channels or day time television for Hajime. Miwa, when visiting, would lose the remote somewhere in her room, and the nurses couldn't always spare ten minutes to hunt it down. Hajime was left with no option, when one of the nursing staff checked on her and switched on the fold-down screen in the morning, but to live with whatever channel had been on the night before.

Four weeks into this repeating tradition, and Hajime was determined to just slice open her skin, superglue her shattered rib together somehow, and make a break for it back to Ensō – all so she could sleep in her bed once more and not wake up to looping news headlines or trashy dramas.

"It's a dangerous mission," Manual babbled, and Hajime realised for the past few minutes he'd been talking to her solidly about… something. "And I wanted to see you, just in case something happens."

Hajime frowned. "That's nice?"

Manual seemed to wilt in on himself. "I hope you get better soon, Miss Hajime."

He stood, and walked to the door, skirting around Miwa – disposable coffee cup in hand – as she bustled back into the room. Hajime bit her lip. Had she said something wrong?

"Mister Manual," Hajime called. Manual stilled; he looked back over his shoulder to Hajime, sprawled in her cramped hospital bed as best as she could. "Don't get yourself killed?"

Miwa choked on her sip of coffee. "Yes, please don't. We like seeing you here."

* * *

According to the news channel, as it blared into life on Hajime's dinky television screen the next day at precisely seven in the morning, Manual had been involved in quite a dangerous mission. He had also been in the wrong place at the right time, meaning he missed quite a bit of the extensive action.

Tasked with searching through the extensive wreckage of Kamino Ward and directing stray jets of water from burst water mains, Manual had been credited for his work in the clean-up crew for the aftermath of an almighty battle. He hadn't, to Miwa's relief, been involved in any of the more serious, life-threatening-and-changing incidents other Pro Heroes had.

All Might was never going to be the same.

Despite her lack of love for Heroics and Quirks in general, Hajime felt a blow to her very being. Since she'd been little, the media had fed children 'All Might this' and 'All Might that'. Seeing Japan's symbol of peace crumble right in front of a camera was a little disheartening. It signalled the end of an era.

Hajime didn't have time to dwell on the strange pangs of sadness she felt. A doctor entered her room, scanned through her files, raked his eyes over her torso – as though he could see through her standard-issue hospital pyjamas and multiple layers of bandages – and announced that she was going to have one final attempt at having her rib healed via Quirk before they broke out the metal plating.

There wasn't time to dwell on sadness – there wasn't time to dwell on anything. Miwa had been called by the ward staff to inform her that Hajime could be going in for a procedure should the Quirk healing fail, and Hajime was being prepped and kicked from pillar to post all around the hospital.

In one respect, it was nice to be away from her room. Plus, if all went well, she could go home the next day.

* * *

All went well, and Hajime, still slightly high off of the minty buzz of the Quirk the surgeon attending to her rib wielded, was discharged that afternoon.

Miwa settled her niece back into their small apartment, and Hajime – for the first time in weeks – allowed herself to relax. One of the sofa springs was pressing into her arse, but that was okay. Because Hajime was finally home. Miwa had insisted on bringing all of Manual's flowers that had survived the last couple of days, but Hajime couldn't care – because she was home.

Her ribs stung slightly around the painkillers, and Hajime was sure she wouldn't be able to recline properly in bed for a further few weeks. The surgeons had stressed that while they'd pieced her severely damaged rib back together, it was in no way healed fully yet. Sort of like laying down the concrete to lay bricks upon when building a wall. If the concrete wasn't given the opportunity to set fully, then one would have a wobbly wall which was liable to collapse at any given moment.

Hajime didn't fancy a repeat trip into hospital to rebuild her 'wobbly wall' of a rib. Once was enough.

"Do you want to try and move to your room?" Miwa bustled through their cramped living room, placing a steaming cup of tea into Hajime's expectant hands. The latter winced as the boiling warmth seeped through the pottery and pressed uncomfortably against her skin, but she had no way of leaning forwards or twisting to place the cup on the side table without breaking something inside her.

Deciding to place the cup haphazardly on her knee and holding it gingerly by the fingertips of one hand, Hajime grimaced. "I don't think that's a good idea. I'll try and kip out here for tonight."

Couch spring pressing somewhere unsavoury be damned, Hajime had planted herself down for the night. She'd left hospital in a set of her own pyjamas (Miwa had been horrified and had thrown her own coat over Hajime's shoulders just to hide the flannel monstrosities her niece was wearing), and fully settled on the sofa, Hajime had no need to get up otherwise. She asked Miwa to leave the television remote in reach just in case Hajime couldn't sleep.

It turned out that that would be the case. Being able to nap whenever she wanted (and blaming it all on the cocktail of drugs she'd be prescribed) had spoiled Hajime while she was in hospital. Now she was sat, wide awake, with her feet propped up on the sofa while an omnibus of the latest drama played on the television. Hajime's leg jerked, and the remote – which she'd balanced on the top of her thigh – clattered to the floor.

Hajime groaned. She wouldn't be able – and wasn't allowed – to bend in order to pick the remote back up.

"Aunt Miwa?" The chances of her Aunt waking at two in the morning was slim. "Aunt Miwa!"

Nothing.

Hajime sighed, resigning herself to the same routine she'd been living during her stay in the hospital. She was at the mercy of the channel guide now.

Suddenly, the cheesy drama cut off. An urgent news broadcast filled the television's screen. Yuuei were holding a press conference.

"Aunt Miwa…" Hajime called, hearing a startled thump from her Aunt's bedroom as her own television blared to life in there.

During times of emergency, connected pieces of technology – radios, mobile phones, the TV – were programmed to broadcast warnings, evacuation notices, and updates about events. It had happened some centuries before with missile scares or during typhoon seasons. Later on, the system had been adopted for the case of extreme Villain attacks.

A press conference, however, was not a national emergency. Even if said conference was from Yuuei.

Miwa fumbled down the hall, feeling for the living room's light switch. Her hand groped the wall for a further few seconds before she found it.

"What the hell," Miwa grumbled, rubbing sleep from her eyes. The conference was short-lived, and Yuuei's staff had appeared, said their piece, and hurriedly left. That left the broadcasters to their own devices, and with nothing else to fill the gap in order to not disrupt the normal broadcasting schedule further, a play-by-play screening of the Kamino Ward incident was shown.

"It's All Might," Hajime uttered. "Again though?"

Onscreen, the skinny visage of Japan's symbol of peace took another hit from the Villain he was fighting.

Together, until the morning light broke through the curtains, Hajime and Miwa Itou sat and watched the remainder of the emergency broadcast. Trembling in anticipation as All Might and his foe traded blows, holding their breaths and barely restraining their exclamations as the number one Hero collected his strength for one final assault… Miwa cheered as a scraggly-looking All Might came out of the fight triumphant despite already knowing the outcome already.

It would be his last 'Heroic' act, and now it was being replayed like last Thursday's soap opera.

"Jeez, that was mental," Miwa shivered, wrapping her dressing gown tighter around her.

Hajime nodded. It had truly been a sight to behold, but she couldn't help but feel detached from it all.

Watching All Might fight had been like watching a children's animation – in fact, All Might had several TV anime series dedicated to him. One could always count on the Hero to save the day, to have an astonishing comeback when the chips were down or if it looked as though the Villain might actually defeat their nemesis.

While All Might had won, it had come at the cost of his power. He looked drained, or so Hajime thought, as the news recapped the early morning's events over and over.

'Is that what Heroism does to you?' She'd wondered at the time, stirring a spoon idly through her cereal bowl and thinking no more on the matter.

After a few days of lolling on the sofa and resting, Hajime felt as though she should be doing something to help her Aunt. She'd placed All Might's final battle to the back of her mind, much like most of Japan's population.

It was another day like any other. Miwa had run the store as usual while Hajime had been hospitalised, but there was only so much one person could do trying to balance out the physical shop floor and the deliveries for online sales.

Even if Hajime had to just sit on a stool behind the counter or spent her time sticking packaging labels onto orders ready to be sent to the post office, she felt as though she was doing something productive. Miwa would busy herself with straightening up the clothing racks and organising the storeroom while Hajime dealt with the less tasking business.

"I could do with getting these shipped before tonight," Miwa informed Hajime while the latter stuck another sticky label on a package.

Miwa hand-wrapped almost all her large orders in layers of waxy brown paper and black, yellow, and red twine. Smaller trinkets such as pieces of costume jewellery, had to be sent in protective boxes or jiffy bags – if only to keep them from getting manhandled and damaged.

"Just go then," Hajime told her Aunt. "It's not as if we're going to get busy all of a sudden."

The pair eyed the store. Currently, there was only one customer perusing through Ensō's wares, and they appeared pretty invested in the hat section. Their bright yellow coat was distinctive. In a classical style and cut, the coat was something that Miwa trawled through the internet for so that she could sell on the garment on to 'specialists' like herself.

Her Aunt loved it when 'People of Culture' – Miwa's words, not Hajime's – visited Ensō, and it wasn't every day that people who preferred Period Attire walked through their door. The last had been a middle school child about a year back, who'd purchased a vintage set of goggles that could almost be considered relics from a lost time. Miwa had had the pink-haired girl swear not to dissect the lenses from the stiff leather like she'd intended, but Hajime got the feeling that nothing would stand in that child's way once she got an idea into her head.

"The last time I let you go out alone, you were almost crushed to death," Miwa frowned.

"But I'm not going out alone, am I?" Hajime retorted smugly, patting the counter's top. "You should be worrying over your own safety."

Aunt Miwa sighed, collecting the packages Hajime had piled up behind the counter into her arms. "You seem to be forgetting that Stain waltzed into our shop three months ago."

"I sincerely doubt another career Super Villain is going to walk right in and ask me about snazzy frocks," said Hajime with a roll of her eyes.

Both women looked up as the tinkling bell above Ensō's door sounded. Their customer had walked away.

Hajime shrugged. "See, there's no one here now – so get going."

With an abrupt 'Fine', Aunt Miwa set off to make it to the post office before they closed for the day. Hajime was just about to swap Ensō's 'Open' sign to 'Closed' as her Aunt returned some hours later. She had wondered why Miwa had been missing for so long.

"Big news!" Miwa blustered past her niece, fluttering around the shop to tidy it – as was customary around closing time. "I found you a self-defence course close by! And it's in the evening and on the weekend, so you can help me with the store during the day."

"But-"

"You're going."

Hajime closed her mouth. Arguing was futile. She was going whether she liked it or not.

* * *

It appeared, as though a trend of the last four or so months, that Yuuei was always going to work its way back into Hajime's life despite the latter having no connection to the school whatsoever. In over two decades of her life, Hajime had had nothing to do with Yuuei's students or what Yuuei stood for. She'd hadn't experienced interaction with any of its graduate Heroes – baring the prior few weeks – and nor did she have any desire to end up in a situation where she needed saving.

(Not because she had no faith in Japan's Heroes. Hostage situations were really tedious, and Hajime didn't venture far enough from the store in order to become a target)

Neither had Hajime wanted anything to do with the prestigious school. She'd got by in the schools she'd attended, far away from the influence of Heroics. Hajime could understand why Yuuei of all places was running a course like the one Miwa was making her attend, though a concern over why Yuuei was opening its doors to the public was curling at the corners of Hajime's mind.

For a school that prided itself on churning out future Heroes, and as a frequent target due to the place being All Might's alma mater, wouldn't Yuuei be opposed to opening its doors to the general public? Anyone could just sign up, right?

Aunt Miwa had even been the one to fill in Hajime's 'night school' application – how did Yuuei know Hajime was who Miwa had stated?

When, rather creepily, an ID card came in the post – accompanied by a holographic welcome message from Headmaster Nedzu and a physical copy of Hajime's acceptance – Hajime had sighed in defeat. Yuuei had taken the information Miwa had provided them, done a little digging, and assigned a student pass to Hajime all through cross referencing her public records. That had to be illegal though? Unless the school had special access to these kinds of things what with all the Villain activity recently. Or… or they'd been tailing Hajime.

Shuddering at that last thought, there was little Hajime could do other than take the rail card Miwa had purchased and ride the train to Musutafu; disembarking at the stop closest to Yuuei. Hajime had the extraordinary luck to be in the same carriage as the frantically late student she'd seen on the morning of her accident.

He jittered just as much as she'd presumed. Hajime hated it.

Their journey into Musutafu had included much jittering, and Hajime was relieved when her stop came up. Then, in an incredibly delayed manner, she realised the teen was a Yuuei student and that he was likely to follow her off the train. Five minutes into him awkwardly trailing behind her towards the school, Hajime had begun to tug at the hem of her jumper nervously.

Should she say something? Ask for directions from the boy? Discreetly she shook her head. She wanted to avoid human contact for as long as possible – or if possible – today.

As it stood, Hajime didn't need to worry about being the one to (or not to) initiate contact. The teen was going to do it for her.

"Um…" He twiddled his thumbs together as he spoke, and Hajime restrained her unimpressed sneer. "Are you lost?"

They were stood outside of Yuuei's front gates, so Hajime could see why he'd ask. What business did a grown woman, who probably wasn't a Hero either, have at a school? Hajime didn't look old enough to be someone's mother (at least, she hoped she didn't), so that was one explanation ruled out.

"No," Hajime answered sharply, fishing out her ID card and the letter that had come with it (which listed where Hajime was supposed to go to attend her classes) from a small shoulder bag. "Do you know where this room is though?"

The boy did. He was heading to the same place.

Jittery Boy held back the classroom door for Hajime, and she pondered whether she was supposed to feel grateful for that. Honestly, Hajime wished he hadn't done that for her; now she would have to walk into the room first.

"Itou and Tanaka?" Questioned an amorphous yellow lump stood behind the classroom's lectern. The boy, Tanaka, nodded frantically. Hajime grunted disinterestedly. "You're late. Nice of you to finally join us. Find a seat… somewhere."

With their eyes only, the yellow lump – which was more of a caterpillar than a lump, truthfully – indicated to three seats which were not occupied around the room. Hesitantly, the jittery Yuuei student slid into the closest one; that left Hajime with the option of walking to either the empty seat at the back of the room or the one by the window.

Hajime chose the latter. If this course was going to be anything like she thought it was, then Hajime was going to ensure she had some form of entertainment. The window would offer that, though realistically the seat at the back of the room (hidden behind other students) would have allowed Hajime to nap with minimal disturbance.

The sound of a zipper being tugged drew Hajime's attention – from the yellow chrysalis a dark butterfly had emerged. The man, dressed in black apart from the long tails of his white scarf and a set of impractically-slit yellow goggles, folded up his sleeping bag with practiced ease.

 _Where can I get me one of those?_ Hajime thought in amazement.

"I'm not your tutor," the not-tutor said. They sounded about as enthusiastic as a cat in a wet paper bag, and Hajime was drawing to the conclusion that perhaps this would be the whole tone for the course. "Just stepping in until they can find someone long-term for these sessions. Name's Shota Aizawa. Let's take roll call again for our late arrivals: I'll state a seat number and you… well, you should know this by now."

(Several of the mature students groaned.)

Most of the people in this room were Hajime's age or older. They'd all had to have passed through basic schooling, even if some time had passed since they had last sat behind a school desk. Class sizes back in Hajime's day had ranged anywhere from twenty to thirty-odd children, but today only a meagre fifteen were present for the self-defence course.

Not too bad of number, if a little on the small size (that meant Hajime couldn't blend into anonymity as easily). In the long run, less people meant Hajime wouldn't have as much trouble trying to be bothered enough to remember all their names.

Unlike Miwa, whose Quirk allowed her to pinpoint the most intimate facts about a person – their measurements – with a bat of her eyelids, Hajime didn't have that skill to rely on. She did know, however, how to dress herself properly and how to dress _well_. That, paired with basic knowhow on what not to wear, meant Hajime could garner an understanding of a person simply from looking at their clothes.

Judgmental of her, perhaps, but the skill had served her well enough over the years. She'd been right about Miwa's last fiancé, and his shoes had been filthy. **[1]**

"Seat One –" Aizawa called, unprepared for the student assigned to that desk's eagerness once again.

"Sentaro Minamoto," Seat One called out, puffing up his chest. The choppy cut of his ashy-grey hair was what stood out to Hajime most; jagged, spiky angles and clumps of varying lengths. His skin was tanned and patched with scars. Sentaro dressed casually, but pragmatically. He was the type who dressed as though he was going to work at tearing up the land with his bare hands.

Sentaro aimed a smirk at the resident of the seat to his left. "I'm nineteen. Quirk's _Poniard_."

Hajime could tell Seat One, a hot-headed country bumpkin if his wardrobe and actions were anything to go by, was going to be a future annoyance.

Seat Two was completely different by comparison. Washi Ofuda was as pompous and carefully primped as his appearance suggested. His style leant towards traditional dress; flaring sleeves, delicate embroidery, and layering. A thick string of black pearls looped themselves around his neck like a choker. He also seemed to dislike Sentaro as much as the former disliked Washi. "My Quirk is called 'Talisman'. I shall turn twenty-one in January."

Seats Three and Four, two young women probably a little older than Hajime known as Hitomi Hisakawa and Komori Momoku respectively, appeared to gel quite nicely with one another. Hitomi sported a duck egg sized bump in the middle of her forehead, and Hajime was certain Komori had a spoon stuck to her lower back right on top of her clothes. Both did not give an insight on their innate powers or ages, having announced them prior to Hajime's arrival.

Jittery Boy – he'd introduced himself as Hiro Tanaka, but Hajime had his nickname sorted and couldn't be bothered to call him otherwise now – had caught Aizawa's eye. The teacher was ticking off the names on his class roster once more but had stilled as Hiro stood and spoke.

"You're one of Power Loaders, aren't you?" The teacher questioned, and Hiro nodded.

"Yes. I'm a member of the Support Department here at Yuuei. My Quirk is 'Stability.'"

"Interesting," Aizawa muttered, and Hiro shuffled under his scrutinising gaze. "For those of you who got here on time, Tanaka's the one lucky Yuuei kid who got on this course through sheer tardiness alone."

Hiro was jittering up a storm, as though if he jiggled his legs enough the ground would give way and he could fidget his way to the other side of the earth through sheer anxiety alone. Hajime mentally applauded his efforts. This was becoming tedious and only five people had introduced themselves so far. With another ten still left to go, Hajime included, introductions were a drawn-out but necessary process.

Seats Six, Seven, and Eight were all run of the mill people with varyingly weird Quirks. Souma Souta – a nondescript bloke with an air manipulation ability – Nanako Yamori, who had some sort of chameleon mutation producing translucent scales on her skin and an unfortunate set of bulging eyes, and finally Tsurutsuru Abura who dripped with… something. Hajime wasn't sure she wanted to find out what it was exactly. Tsurutsuru had at least brought his own bucket and mop along with him.

Suge Yato, from Seat Nine, who announced herself to be thirty-two and newly single ('Looking at you, Sehnn~sei,' the woman had drawled with a coquettish waggle of her eyebrows) had snakes for hands. They were apparently called 'Ichi' and 'Ni' and could lash out with a nasty venom when ordered or provoked. A shiny, prominent pair of fangs popped out of Suge's mouth whenever she grinned.

Subako Fujita from Seat Ten was extremely quiet. They muttered their name, did not provide their age, and Hajime was certain something was crawling around under what little skin Subako was showing, which was basically the lower half of their face. The rest was covered with immensely thick waterproof fabrics – the sort used in sports gear that repelled moisture and kept oneself dry both on the inside and outside.

Hideaki Kuchigiri, another boisterous character like Yato, was also just as prominent in his flintiness. The pair would get on like a house on fire. His Quirk, 'Trouser Talk' had Aizawa resting his head in his hands momentarily. At least Aizawa didn't have to sit near him like Hajime; she'd stared bleary-eyed at the man while Hideaki sent her a 'charming' smile.

"Seat Twelve," the teacher called, and Hajime stood as slowly as possible. Her ribs twinged slightly.

"Hajime Itou. Twenty-Two." Hajime sat once more.

"That's it?" Seat One grumbled. Hajime rose an eyebrow at the boy. "You came in late, had us introduce ourselves again, and that's all you're going to say?"

"Enough, Minamoto," Aizawa rasped warningly. Hajime's lip curled; what else was she supposed to say? "Seat Thirteen?"

Robert 'Call me Bob!' Takahashi, and his fiancé Tsukiko Usakichi, took Seats Thirteen and Fourteen. Call-me-Bob could twist his limbs into springs and had recently returned from the States after falling for the kangaroo-legged Tsukiko while she'd been on holiday there with her friends. Not to say she looked like a kangaroo at all. She had the lower musculature and power of one, certainly, but Tsukiko insisted (on pain of death) that her Quirk originated from something bunny-like.

That left only one student. Seat Fifteen. Ma Hotai, a middle-aged single parent of two, looked like they were still on the verge of a mid-life crisis. They wore a long, pleated skirt that fell past their calves, into which and stretched across a broad chest was tucked a Hawaiian printed shirt. If the colours had harmonised, then Hajime could have admittedly got behind Ma's fashion sense. Very avant-garde; Miwa would love it.

But the garments did not complement one another colour-wise, nor did they create an interesting or flattering pattern combination. Ma's clothes lay close to the body and strained in places where layers of thick bandaging wove itself around their limbs. Hajime could feel her eye begin to twitch. Maybe she could invite them to Ensō and sic Miwa on them?

Ma didn't specify what their Quirk was, only stating that should they become a Hero at any given point then their name would be 'Mummy Man.'

With that, Aizawa placed down his class roster and pen. He stretched out his back and took in a deep breath. "Welcome to Mature Heroics."

Hajime, who had been dozing slightly nearing the end of the introductions, suddenly snapped to attention. She rose a hand in the air, hoping that Aizawa would call on her.

"What is it now, Itou?"

"I think I'm in the wrong class," she said, tacking on a hasty 'Sir' at the end. Something about Aizawa screamed at Hajime not to get on his bad side. At the front of the class, Minamoto Sentaro bristled. The rest of the collected students watched on curiously.

Aizawa narrowed his eyes. "You're on the register, right?" Hajime nodded slowly. "Then you're not in the wrong class, are you?"

"On the contrary, Sir," Hajime retorted, narrowing her eyes right back. "I was informed this was a self-defence course. I am not physically able to attend a Heroics Course in the eyes of Yuuei."

"Well that's strange." Aizawa's tone was neither sarcastic nor sincere – something akin to a blend of both with a little sassiness sprinkled on top. "I don't see why you would be here if you were not able. We'll speak about this later, Itou. For now, let's get started."

Hajime Itou, age twenty-two and Quirkless, was going to kill her Aunt for getting her into this mess.

* * *

 **[1]** My Mother always says, 'Never trust a man with dirty shoes.'

* * *

 **Characters can be confusing. I've got a lot of OC's to keep track of ;_;**

1

Sentaro Minamoto – Poniard

2

Washi Ofuda – Talisman

3

Hitomi Hisakawa – Third Eye

4

Komori Momoku – Magnetroception

5

Hiro Tanaka – Stability

6

Souma Souta – Air/Wind Manipulation

7

Nanako Yamori – Chameleon

8

Tsurutsuru Abura – Lardon

9

Suge Yato – Snake Hands

10

Subako Fujita – Hive

11

Hideaki Kuchigiri – Trouser Talk

12

Hajime Itou [QUIRKLESS]

13

Robert "Bob" Takahashi – Bounce

14

Tsuchiko Usakichi – Bunny

15

Ma Hotai – Mummy Man

* * *

Musical Inspiration for this Chapter:

"That Green Gentleman" – Panic! At The Disco, 'Pretty Odd'

"Squid Melody (Blue Version)" – The Living Tombstones, 'Squid Melody (Blue Version)'


	3. Let's Get Physical

**A/N [4/10/2018] :** Thank you for waiting so patiently for the next chapter to come out. I put this on hold until I'd finished with _ORBIT_ , which I'm also glad to have completed. Also, shoutout to _**Lady Syndra**_ for the first and second reviews on this story (ever)!

* * *

Thank you as always, to the wonderful _**InsertImaginativeNameHere**_ for Beta-ing!

* * *

 **LATE HERO ACADEMIA**

 **CHAPTER THREE**

 **LET'S GET PHYSICAL (LET'S NOT, HAJIME CRIES)**

* * *

Hajime wordlessly stepped past an anxious Miwa into the kitchen shortly after returning from her first 'Night Class' session. She picked her way through the assorted tins and packages in the cupboards, locating the fancy packet of hand-cooked crisps Miwa had been saving for something special.

Hajime's fingers shook. Whether from ire or hunger, she couldn't be sure.

Miwa, on seeing the valued packaging clamped in Hajime's trembling hands, perked up. "How did it go?"

Obviously, her Aunt had misread Hajime's entire demeanour, as the latter simply walked through the living room; completely ignoring Miwa, who, with her knees tucked up on the sofa, had been expecting Hajime to join her. In fact, Hajime didn't acknowledge her Aunt at all.

Hajime walked exhaustedly down the hall. She slipped into her bedroom, closed the door as tightly as possible (it stuck slightly – the bottom of the wooden door having warped in the summer heat), and slid her mound of dirty clothes behind it to stop Miwa from entering. It was petty, yes, and utterly disgusting to some that Hajime chose not the use the laundry basket she owned, but if anyone tried to talk to Hajime Itou right now she would not be held responsible for her actions.

She pulled back the covers on her bed, slid beneath them all the while clutching the 'sharing' packet of crisps to her chest, and then allowed the duvet and sheets to slowly thaw her from the cold, sickly feeling Hajime felt deep down inside.

The crisps crinkled inside their plastic packaging as Hajime shifted in bed to make sure her tender rib wasn't going to be pressed by the dodgy mattress spring. The position Hajime usually slept in had worn the bouncy springs down, but the mattress was still extremely comfortable despite the one spring you had to avoid, and Hajime couldn't bear to replace it.

A knock sounded at her bedroom door.

"Hajime?" Aunt Miwa's call was muffled through the door.

Hajime did not answer, staring at the wall adjacent to where she lay and hugging the crisps tighter to herself.

"Hajime, I'm coming in."

Hajime couldn't care less. She was supposed to be angry right now, but the thought of Miwa trying to push her way into her niece's room and tripping over Hajime's laundry was very amusing. Hajime hid her smile under her covers, trying to frown as Miwa swore and blustered her way through the door. She was supposed to be angry, after all.

Miwa sighed in relief as she finally gained access to the room, grimacing at the sight of a week-old blouse at the top of the washing pile that Hajime had spilt soy sauce down. The shirt would be one they'd have to dye a darker colour, because there was no chance of the sauce stains coming out of the cream fabric now.

"Hey," Miwa ventured softly. "How did your first class go?"

Hajime responded by pulling the covers further over her head. Now only a few knotted tangles of dark brown hair were visible.

Miwa sighed, and sat herself down on the edge of Hajime's bed – the latter could feel the tension from the covers as Miwa pinned them under herself. Then Miwa began to talk.

"You don't seem very happy; was someone horrid to you? Did you enjoy it, because I don't know whether Yuuei will refund me if you're not enjoying it? Anyway, guess who called into the store this afternoon! He seemed a little put out that you weren't here and that he'd missed you being discharged from the hospital- Hajime? Hajime are you eating my crisps under there?"

"…No?" Came the stifled, cheek-stuffed reply.

Miwa wrenched the covers back. "You totally are – hand them over!"

Hajime grumbled, but relented. She handed the packet over to her Aunt and subtly wiped the excess grease away from the corner of her mouth. Shuffling so that she sat upright against the headboard of her bed, Hajime repositioned the cushions behind her.

"Why did you sign me up for a Heroics course?" Hajime asked.

Aunt Miwa choked on the load of crisps she'd shoved into her gob. "Ah…"

"You signed me up for a Heroics course. Not a self-defence course – a Heroics one." Hajime narrowed her eyes. "You know that I can't do one half of the things people with Quirks can, why would you knowingly throw me into something like that?"

Miwa chewed slowly, trying to prolong answering. "At the time, I…" She sighed.

"You weren't thinking then? Weren't in control of your actions?"

"No – not at all, I just. I just thought that if they were willing to take anyone on for this course, then maybe they'd allow you. I was close to a large outdoor flat screen when the bulletin was announced, so I signed you up straight away without thinking."

Hajime smacked her head back against the headboard, winced, rubbed at the spot, and then slammed her head back again just for the hell of it. She frowned. "So, the fifteen of us who are in class were like lucky lotto numbers?"

"Ooh! You have fourteen other classmates? What are they like?"

"Don't change the subject."

Aunt Miwa pouted. "Fine. But in all honesty, Hajime, I really thought this would be good for you. I did say in the hospital that once you were all trained up no one would ever have to save you again. What better way to do that than becoming a Hero yourself?"

"That's beside the point," Hajime grumbled, reaching for the crisp packet. Ordinarily Miwa would have ripped it away from her by now in fear of her beloved crisps being consumed in one handful. Miwa Itou knew her niece though, and at the moment greasy snacks were the only things strong enough to bribe Hajime into talking.

"I felt like an idiot," Hajime mumbled, brows crunching together as she frowned. "I actually put my hand up and said 'Hey, I don't belong in this class,' got told to shut up and pay attention, then I was held afterwards only to be told there were 'No take-backsies.'"

"Did the teacher actually say that, or-"

Hajime shook her head. It might have made her feel better if Aizawa had said that, but alas, he did not. She felt rather conflicted. Aizawa had been quite blunt about her 'situation' (rather, society treating her like the Quirklesss scum of the earth, Hajime presumed) but had also said there was nothing he could do to pull her out of the course at last minute seeing as a logistical shitstorm would undoubtedly follow Hajime's departure – something all of Yuuei's staff would like to avoid at all costs.

Seeing as it was only the first week, Hajime would have scoffed. Then she remembered Aizawa stating somewhere in the first twenty minutes of his 'Introduction to Mature Heroics' lecture that they'd all been hand picked out of thousands of applicants by the Headmaster himself.

"He would not have picked you if he didn't see an opportunity," Aizawa had rasped. "And Headmaster Nedzu sees quite a lot."

That made Hajime a tiny bit smug – not that she let it show. Someone like her had been chosen out of countless others probably far stronger and more capable than herself. She had been chosen for this Mature Student Heroics Course, not them.

But thinking along the lines of Heroism, let alone pursuing a potential career in that field, was dangerous thinking – and she could have smacked herself for thinking she was on par with her Quirked peer group. Hajime shook her head; Heroics was just dangerous in general, and she wouldn't let herself forget that ever.

Truthfully, though Hajime was loathe to admit this, she had enjoyed Aizawa's opening lecture.

He'd had a lot to say on the current cultural, political and social implications of All Might's retirement, increased Villainy and Vigilantism, and even some philosophical musings on a Heroic Renaissance as a product of the aforementioned. Middle school student applications to Hero Academies had increased in recent years, yet Aizawa predicted in the wake of Kamino there would be even more Hero-hopefuls applying for years to come.

"All Might, though my colleague, conducts himself in a far different manner than myself as a Hero. He maintained his position at the top and as a so-called 'Symbol of Peace' for multiple generations and may well be considered one of the most revered Heroes to date."

The class had murmured amongst themselves shortly after Aizawa had finished speaking, but the latter was not done yet. He cleared his throat, lazily scratching at a scar beneath his right eye. "If you want the opinion of a Hero, then everyone will be vying to take his spot – but no one will be able to bridge that gap yet."

Ma had raised their hand, and Aizawa patiently called on them. "You said 'Yet'. Do you believe that another symbol will be present soon?"

Aizawa sighed. Those sat to the front of the class may have heard him mutter something along the lines of 'I'm not paid enough for this,' and 'Toshinori you're a pain,' but others in the room did not. "What I mean is that some of Yuuei's current students are likely to be the generations that cause this Hero 'Rebirth.'"

"You mean like Midoriya?" Hiro blurted, clamping his jittery hands over his mouth once he'd realised what he'd done.

"I suppose," Aizawa stated lazily. "The next time you speak out of turn, Tanaka, I'll make you stand in the hall."

Hiro paled. He appeared to be struggling not to respond with an apology but had also taken Aizawa's warning extremely to heart. Amusement glinted in the not-teacher's eye.

"I'm not going to lie to you all, All Might has inspired a lot of people over the years. We've got kids applying from all corners of Japan to come here, but kids take work to shape into Heroes. They come with unstable moral codes and their own ethics; while I like testing their limits, until their third-year children will not make good Heroes. The pressure is on to find the next All Might, and our kids have already been through a lot these past five months. So, if children take too long to be ideal heroes, why not turn to adults instead?"

"So," Suge drawled, her 'S' sounds more snake-like than ever, "What you're saying is we're the scapegoats?"

"Exactly," Aizawa grinned. His fifteen students, collectively, tried to hide the terror they felt at seeing their instructor smile.

* * *

Hajime wasn't a motivated person. She was of the opinion that if she had no choice but to do something, then she would, but otherwise she couldn't muster the energy to be bothered. Miwa Itou, whatever deity that would listen bless her soul, was often the only one who could motivate her niece – short of Hajime actually wanting to do something herself, which was rare.

So why, other than being told she had no choice, why was she still attending Mature Heroics classes? Aizawa was a pretty intimidating reason not to play truant truthfully, but the reason was far simpler than that. Hajime was – dare she say it – enjoying herself.

While she would be useless in the field and likely wouldn't ever reach that point (because really, who'd expect a Quirkless person to get a Hero License – who would even allow that?), Hajime found it interesting to learn about the process; to learn about what Heroes themselves had to say instead of what the media fed to the public.

Aizawa, if one could look past his frankly scruffy exterior and prickly character, was interesting himself. He had a knowing, clinical outlook on his profession, yet still retained an underlying passion for what he did.

For the most part, their classes were interesting purely because of the theory behind Heroics alone; the ethics and protocols, and how the law worked with and against Heroes depending on the manner with which they responded to a situation. Their desks were pushed to the side of the room during these lectures, with their chairs forming a misshaped oval so it was easier to discuss their views. Aizawa would keep watch from behind his lectern and only step in if someone said something that needed to be corrected.

Hajime could get behind that. She'd been a philosophy major not long ago, and it was a change to flex those thinking muscles and pick apart Heroism with her introspections alone, rather than listening to Miwa babble on about fall colour schemes and changing the window-display for the umpteenth time. Quietly letting people discuss their views was stimulating, though she wasn't much one for contributing.

People liked to see the world categorised into neat little boxes, but Hajime much preferred to hang back and remove herself from it all. She was excluded from the majority of things to begin with, though in retrospect it worked to her advantage in the end because she was detached from a 'normal' way of thinking. Most people in her MH class were struggling with the concepts Aizawa covered – especially those who were younger – yet a few individuals took it in their stride; mainly those who were older and jaded by the state of the working world.

Heroes walked a fine line, or so Aizawa had said. They had to do their best to save the day but keep everyone happy, had to control themselves because their opponents likely had none. Minamoto couldn't quite wrap his head around why there were other matters involved outside of just getting the job done: protocols, health and safety factors, an awareness of the impact any potential actions of your own could have on the public.

"Well, I think we should just focus on getting the job done first and deal with anything else later," Minamoto had said stubbornly.

"That works fine for underground Heroes," Aizawa told him in return, shaking his head a little. "There's less risk factors involved with civilians because night patrols are generally less populated – crimes committed after dark have to be dealt with swifter, firstly because there's poorer visibility, and secondly because there's an increased danger in general. Better established Villains will work at night, because there's cover available for them – it won't always be purse snatchers, bank robbers, and opportunists you'll encounter."

Minamoto intended to interrupt, but Aizawa kept talking. "Heroics during daytime differs because a lot of showmanship is woven into the Heroic act themselves. The general public are shown your persona and abilities simultaneously, and care has to be taken to maintain your social standing, the protection of those you wish to keep safe, and that you do not cause incidents through misbehaviour or with your Quirk."

There was little chance of Hajime doing that.

While she enjoyed listening to Aizawa their not-so-temporary teacher lecture, Hajime couldn't help but think that this whole course was a farce. Suge had hit the proverbial nail on the head with her comment about this class of mature Heroes (and one tardy high school student) being scapegoats for the newest batch of Heroes in training.

As impressive as those overpowered children may be, Aizawa was right. Children needed to be children and needed to be taught thoroughly. Adults, disregarding the minority that had never really grown up and gained independent thought, made better Heroes in the end. Less impulsive, more understanding of the world.

Well, if you were anyone other than Sentaro Minamoto that is.

He'd made it his personal mission to badger Hajime whenever Aizawa gave them leave.

Mature Heroics classes took place on Saturdays, starting in the mid-morning up until lunch. The group would sojourn for an hour, before Aizawa wrangled them back into that classroom for the afternoon session. Hajime had found herself swept under Suge Yato's… reptilian wing? Rather, she'd been lassoed by Ichi and Ni – Suge's arm-snakes, and dragged off to lunch. Ma Hotai had joined them, eating delicately and savouring his food while Suge chattered and Hajime nodded along.

She'd been swept up by someone else's pace, but Hajime didn't seem to mind. Suge was very much like Miwa – snakes aside – in how she confidently dealt with people. Ma was reserved, but not in an antisocial way. Hajime was an apathetic medium for the two, and they trio got along nicely.

After the disaster of their first week on the course (in Hajime's own opinion), the second week was still intense, but far more thought-provoking. Then Aizawa had to go and open his big, smirking mouth.

"Ensure you bring gym clothing and suitable shoes for next week. We'll take the morning session like usual but will be shifting to physical training in the afternoon."

Hajime was not the only one who groaned at the mention of physical training, and Aizawa's sneaky little smirk widened.

"Hey Itou," Minamoto barked as soon as Aizawa vacated the MH classroom. "Bet you wish you were in the wrong class now."

"I do, actually," Hajime quipped back. That was mostly the truth, and she didn't really see the harm in answering the jumped-up little get if she wasn't intentionally being mean. Her response was made all the more delicious when Minamoto didn't know how to react.

An agitated flush crept up the back of his neck, and Sentaro gnashed his teeth together before retreating back to his desk.

Whether he'd expected her to flounder or burst into tears, Hajime wasn't sure. What she did know however, was that you didn't grow up Quirkless and not develop a thick skin. She'd had meaner insults and jabs thrown at her in her younger years, and Sentaro Minamoto's petty attempts at intimidating her with his superior Alpha-Quirk routine wouldn't actually work unless he got physical. Hajime had no way in knowing what Minamoto's Quirk – Poniard – actually did until he lashed out, but if easy snarky responses kept him at bay then Hajime would try her best to knock him down a peg or two.

She wasn't the only one who had come under fire from Minamoto's temper. Seat two, Washi Ofuda was another person Sentaro liked to snap at. Wash seemed to encourage this though; taking any opportunity Minamoto presented to him to bait the younger teen. That their desks were situated close together also did not help the matter. Ofuda liked to poke and prod at the younger man, knowing which buttons of Minamoto's to press when Aizawa wasn't looking just in time for Sentaro to throw a fit – and perhaps also a punch.

Aizawa was quick to defuse the tension, and to smooth things over between the two young men, but the rest of the class were uneasy about how readily Sentaro Minamoto was ready to throw his fists about. Hajime especially, because she was his victim of choice at the moment.

Hajime rolled her eyes and grabbed for her bag; why would things even get physical in the first place? She wasn't going to encourage that at all, but Hajime could handle herself if insults and taunts were involved. She silently fell in step with Suge and Ma, following them down the hall.

"You shouldn't let him get to you," Suge encouraged, tossing a dirty look over her shoulder at a still-confused Sentaro. The older woman wasn't someone Hajime had thought she'd get along with immensely, but Suge was had a personality that didn't take 'No' for an answer. She and her snakes latched onto Hajime and there was nothing the latter could do about it.

"I'm not. He's just a kid." Hajime replied honestly. "Plus, I guess I'm also still a kid."

Ma snorted, covering it with the deliberately frayed sleeve of their sweater. Today they wore the aforementioned mustard-yellow sweater over a stiff ruffle-collared blue pinstripe shirt. A pair of cut-off jeans and simple slip-on sneakers would have exposed Ma's skin if not for the multiple layers of bandaging present under their clothes.

Hajime glanced at the ratty slip-ons, her mind flicking through a catalogue of items Miwa had inside the shop. She riffled through her bag for a spare business card, handing it to Ma. There were directions to both the store in Hosu and their website on the back. "Y'know, I think we've got a pair of boots in at the moment that would go really well with what you're wearing."

An indignant scoff sounded from behind the trio.

"This isn't a fashion parade." It was Minamoto, again.

"Never said it was," Hajime frowned when it appeared that Sentaro had not heard her.

"I'm here to be the best I can be with my Quirk, meanwhile you're being buddy-buddy, hindering my learning, and talking about shoes. I mean, could you get any more unbelievable?"

Hajime ground her teeth together. "I didn't want to be here in the first place. I was told this was a self-defence class – not a Heroics course."

"As if," Sentaro bit back. "Why wouldn't you want to be here, learning to be a Hero and using your Quirk?"

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe because I don't have a Quirk."

Sentaro lurched back in surprise. Hajime could feel Ma and Suge stiffen beside her. Hajime balled her fists by her side, inclining her head regally. While she wished she had never said anything to begin with – hadn't given Minamoto any excuse to tease her further – Hajime was glad she'd at least been able to knock him off balance once again.

"See you next week," she said to Ma and Suge, shaking her head when the latter reached out – Ichi's forked tongue flicking near to her arm. "Sorry, I've got to catch my train."

It was the second week in a row that Hajime returned home in a horrid humour. This time though, Miwa knew to leave her alone and just let her stew in her room.

* * *

It wasn't so much that Hajime was dragging her feet, but she was dragging her feet.

Hiro had also been running late too, as shown by his mad dash onto her train compartment, but Hajime was trying her best to be purposely tardy. She could see the younger boy glancing at her anxiously every few seconds; his leg jittering as though the action itself could speed the train up.

Hajime moved at a purposeful crawl when they reached their stop. Hiro had already bolted out of the automatic doors. He was jogging lightly on the spot when she finally reached the platform.

"Ms. Itou we're going to be late."

"Go without me."

"We can make it if we run-"

"I don't run," Hajime told him sternly. "Go on without me."

She regretted it instantly, seeing how his face dropped, but Hajime had had a week to let her emotions from the Saturday prior to fester. What would her classmates think now? Other than that she didn't deserve her place on the course – because she didn't, not really – and that she should be replaced. Miwa had put ideas into her head, sure, but Hajime would always be Quirkless.

Not entirely helpless, but still disadvantaged.

That didn't mean she wasn't nervous however. If her classmates were mature about things, then they probably wouldn't bat an eyelid at last week's revelation. There was, however, Minamoto. Ugh.

Waltzing into class ten minutes late and drawing attention to herself probably wasn't a good idea either though. Hajime stepped up her pace. She made it to class only five minutes late.

"Nice of you to join us Itou," Aizawa snipped, scratching her name off his register.

Hajime sloped off to her seat, trying to ignore the way Minamoto's eyes trailed after her. It was going to be a long morning.

When they were dismissed for lunch, Suge and Ma acted as though nothing had changed at all. Wordlessly, they took it in their stride, sitting beside Hajime while they ate. The same could not be said of the others. They'd heard about her then.

Hajime bolted soon after she'd finished eating in Yuuei's cafeteria, squirreling herself away in the lady's loos just to escape a barrage of pitying looks. There was half an hour remaining for their break, and Hajime intended to spend it perched on a closed toilet lid –phone in hand and scrolling aimlessly– until she had to return for the physical portion of their schedule.

"Oi, Itou. You in there?"

Why did it have to be Minamoto?

Regretfully, Hajime unlocked the door to her bathroom stall. Surely he was just calling from outside in the corridor, and hadn't just steamrolled his way into the loos.

Sure enough, he had. Under the fluorescent lighting in the ladies loos, Sentaro Minamoto looked more menacing than usual. His tanned skin, littered with small burns and faint scars, reflected and shone under the harsh lighting. His ashy hair cast shadows on his face, and Sentaro seemed far too big for the cramped bathroom – regardless of the room's inviting open space between the stalls and the sinks.

"What are you doing in here, Minamoto?"

"Checking on you. I wanted to talk."

Hajime pinched the bridge of her nose; he could have asked Suge or Ma to come and fetch her if he wished to speak with her so desperately, or at least wait outside. Honestly, if it had been anyone else in this bathroom stall Sentaro Minamoto would have been punted to kingdom come by now.

"Can we not do this in the bathroom?" Hajime asked, idly washing her hands. Though Sentaro tutted, he nodded in acquiescence. Hajime followed him out into the hall. "Well, go on. Talk."

"You've got some nerve," he began, and Hajime felt her stomach lurch.

This was the talk she had been expecting all day; the talk in which she was told she wasn't good enough, and that she should back down because she was squandering resources she could never really take advantage of. She was already in a rather black mood from trying to swallow down her feelings from last weeks confrontation. This was just going to top her day right off.

"Seriously, if you think you can keep up with me – if you're here because you can keep up with me," Sentaro slammed a hand against his chest, "Then I'm willing to acknowledge you as my rival. Quirkless or not, you've got guts to be in this class."

He… wanted to be rivals with her?

Was he stupid?

Reading the expression on Sentaro Minamoto's face, Hajime found that the teen was being deadly serious. If she said yes, would he stop bothering her? What did being a rival even entail? Could she purposely skip out of being a challenge to him, and concede while he lorded whatever it was he wanted over her? Because she really couldn't be bothered with this unless it managed to stop him from bothering her.

Hajime tilted her head to the side. Minamoto looked genuine enough – overzealous and bull-headed, but genuine. She'd known that from the first week though, when he'd snapped and grumbled about reintroductions – but why he was stood here with her outside of the toilets, checking on her and making silly demands?

Minamoto shuffled under her scrutiny. "It's nothing personal, I just think you're pretty ballsy to be here. But don't get me wrong, I'm the strongest."

Oh, Hajime realised. He's one of those types of people. **[1]**

While Sentaro Minamoto was rowdy, slightly self-absorbed, and trigger happy in pursuit of being top-dog, Hajime could see beneath it al that there was a good kid inside. He hadn't had to check on her or create a stupid rivalry (because even if Sentaro was being totally serious about it, Hajime wasn't – and it was stupid), but he'd done so anyway. She could admire that.

"So," the ashy-haired teen stuck out his hand. "Rivals?"

Hajime took his hand. "Sure, whatever."

Sentaro's toothy grin was blinding. Hajime somehow managed to stumble her way back to class, and then to the changing rooms, while he smiled and smiled and smiled.

Suge whispered close to Hajime's ear. "What did the kid want with you?"

Hajime shrugged and pulled her a loose-fitting t-shirt Miwa had packed for her over her head.

Just before Aizawa signalled for them to start running warm-up laps, he announced that should Hajime feel any pain or fatigue she should pull away from exerting herself instantly. That drew a few curious inquires as to whether she was injured.

"Ah, I broke a few ribs not long back."

"Oh?" Ma hummed.

Hajime nodded, fingers idly skimming along her sides as she indicated to the area she's injured. "Mm, got caught up in the Stain incident, made a close acquaintance with a wall. Though I'd met him before that."

"No way?" Suge exclaimed, startling the other students. Ichi and Ni flicked out their tongues; tasting the air inquisitively. "Seriously? What was he like?"

There were multiple ways Hajime could have answered. 'Manic'. 'Into punk fashion'. 'Downright terrifying'. Instead, she chose; "Weirdly attractive."

She could have sworn Aizawa sighed in dismay at the front of the class.

"Don't push yourselves too much," Aizawa stated as the students lined up in an informal grouping. "We've got other tests to conduct after this."

"Wh- uh," Hiro raised his hand shakily. Aizawa nodded. "Why are we being tested? Surely you have my data from the start of this year?"

"True." Aizawa scratched at his cheek. "We don't have any data on your classmates though, and it's unfair to make them go through everything without you. Suck it up, Tanaka."

The student from seat seven, Nanako Yamori, rose her hand. Her skin shimmered iridescently as all eyes turned to her; the scales seeping into transparency as she tried to hide from everyone's attention.

"Why is it even necessary for us to be tested?" she asked. Hiro nodded along eagerly just behind her.

"Well," Aizawa drawled. "We have to establish class rankings from somewhere. Also, it's necessary to know of your capabilities thus far."

'But why?' seemed to be the general consensus of the fifteen students.

Aizawa, maddeningly, quirked an eyebrow. "Surely you've heard of the Yuuei Sports Festival?"

Hajime didn't like the sound of this.

* * *

 **[1]** Sentaro's a tsun-tsun!

* * *

Musical Inspiration for this Chapter:

"Lake Effect Kid" – Fall Out Boy, 'Lake Effect Kid'

"Old Friend" – Mitski, 'Be the Cowboy'


	4. Idiocy is a Contagious Affliction

**A/N [20/10/2018] :** To the Guest reviewer: I miss Manual too!

* * *

Beta, as always, by the wonderful _InsertImaginativeNameHere_

* * *

 **LATE HERO ACADEMIA**

 **CHAPTER FOUR**

 **IDIOCY IS A CONTAGIOUS AFFLICTION**

* * *

Sweating to death, Hajime forced herself to complete the last lap of the running track. She was miles behind everyone else, her ribs burned fiercely, but Aizawa was watching her like a hawk watches a plump mouse ripe for the picking. Something primitive inside of her didn't like that, at all, and fight or flight took over.

Hajime stubbornly kept on running, even as her fourteen classmates completed their final lap.

It had been her last test of the day, seeing as she didn't have a Quirk to assess like the others, who would be put through their paces with that. They'd stretched sufficiently (though she'd sat out for one or two of the more taxing moves knowing that it would strain her ribs), had their grip strength tested, and been judged on their overall fitness. Hajime wouldn't say she was out of 'shape' per se. She definitely was a shape of some kind; one that Miwa still allowed her to model clothes with, and who could carry several heavy cardboard boxes out from the backroom if she put her mind to it.

Was Hajime Itou fit? Not at all. Sure, Miwa only pulled out her motorcycle when they had to take long trips elsewhere, but with Ensō mainly centred in Hosu, travelling for business was redundant. When Hajime had to journey outside of her home prefecture she would always take the train, and if the place was in walking distance –even if said walking distance was over an hour away– then she would walk. Sometimes in heels if Miwa laid out a specific outfit she wanted Hajime to wear like a walking billboard for alternative and vintage fashion.

Hajime had calves that could crack walnuts, quite possibly some kind of leg affliction in her future from the abuse of wearing high heels, and zero stamina outside of power walking through the pain like a champ. Humongous blisters, janky ankles, and corns didn't daunt her anymore. On the plus side, if she ever had to do something in heels she would excel at it, such as booking it in a one-hundred metre sprint. The downside of the aforementioned skill was that if Minamoto caught wind of Hajime one-upping him in any way, shape, or form, then the rest of the Mature Heroics class would have to suffer through stilettoes too.

The following two weeks after Aizawa's little bombshell and Minamoto's declaration had been genuine hell. The time spent working on theory was cut to roughly forty minutes, and even then, questions had been peppered throughout the class about what this little the school was planning tournament entailed. Only, the tournament wasn't so little. And there would be cameras.

Aizawa eventually broke down and told them about it in further detail, if only to stop Minamoto and Ofuda to stop snarling at each other and so he could continue his lecture. Hajime felt a silly twinge of hurt, actually. Weren't she and Minamoto supposed to be rivals? Who made another rival when they had a rival? She didn't want to be part of rival triangle, but then realised she didn't really want a rival either and shook her head and banished all similar nonsense thoughts from her mind.

"It's going to work much the same way as the sports festivals for our younger students do. Three segments, and we'll start to wheedle you out until there's only four left for one-on-one battles."

 _Oh goodie_ , Hajime had thought. _If I'm lucky I'll get knocked out in the first round._

"For anyone who thinks they can half-arse this," Aizawa said lowly, staring knowingly at an unenthused Hajime. "Let it be known that your education here is currently funded by donations from the government and if it appears that you're not giving it your all they'll want the tuition fees back in full."

Sheepishly, Hajime rose her hand. "Hypothetically, if that were to happen, how much is the cost of reimbursing the government?"

"Oh," said Aizawa, smiling that smile that made babies weep and even the bravest amongst the MA students' recoil. "I'd say nothing short of two million Yen." **[1]**

A cold sweat broke out down Hajime's back. That was more than she and Miwa could make even if business was booming – and Miwa was pretty good at making her money. (She was also very good at spending the new funds by purchasing more stock.)

"Ah ha…" Hajime tittered nervously, her gaze darting round to check on her classmates. Similarly, they too looked shocked at the mounting costs if they bowed out gracefully. "Good thing we're going to give it our all, right guys? Plus Ultra, no? Hah…"

"Indeed." Aizawa's eyes seemed to sheen red for a split second. "Plus Ultra."

That was the reason why Hajime currently ran for her life, slumping at the finishing line while Suge clucked around her like a mother hen; Ichi and Ni tasting at the sweat rolling off of Hajime's arms in waves. Hajime was stuck in a real predicament here. Yes, she was enjoying the course (to her horror, she truly was), but at the same time there was no real place for her here. Whoever it was calling the shots messed up big time when they picked her out of the bunch of candidates put forward, though again, that could have been the point. Hajime could be the one to take on for the team; the true scapegoat out of a group of foils for Class 1-A.

The prospect of having to pay back half of what Miwa and herself made every year had Hajime rethinking her decision to subtly chuck herself down some stairs and breaking her leg the day before the sports festival. Mainly because it was such a large sum to be ripped out of their bank account in one go –Aizawa had informed them that the total amount for the tuition fee could not be repaid in instalments, which Hajime found suspicious– and because Hajime was fairly certain her Aunt might kill her this time if she did something else stupid.

Then again, maybe Hajime should track down Manual and see if he could unintentionally land her into another rib-cracking situation?

"People will be watching you," Aizawa continued, ignoring how his students had begun to panic over their finances. "Like with our first and third-year students, they'll want you to put on a good show. The length of this course is short, so we're not offering you all up for internships like we would normally. Instead, your performance here will affect how you will intern once graduated."

"Excuse me, Sensei," Robert –'Call me Bob!'– interjected. "We're interning under Heroes once we've finished the course?"

The look Aizawa levelled at call-me-Bob said everything – as though the teacher couldn't quite understand why some of his students were so fond of reiterating what he'd just said and of asking stupid questions. It was the look of a long-suffering teacher. As someone who didn't really deal well with people all the time, Hajime could sympathise.

"Listen up, and take notes or something, because I'm only telling you this once." Many scrambled for their notepads and pens. "This is a ten-week course. We're on week four. Next week, you're all going to battle it out in a big field with lots of people watching. Is that simple enough for you to understand?"

It was, perhaps, inexplicably blunt, but very easy to follow. Aizawa continued; "After that, we've got a few guest lectures, provisional license applications –though you don't need to worry so much about those because you'll be assessed on your abilities through your internship instead, seeing as you've passed the submission deadline for the exams– Hero aesthetic crafting, and your internships. I swear this all should have been in the pamphlet sent out to you."

Someone –Hajime wasn't sure who in her panicked daze– quietly admitted there had been no pamphlet, and Aizawa's eyes nearly rolled to the back of his head his irritation was so palpable.

"Of course, there wasn't," he grumbled, then muttered something about how he wasn't 'paid enough'.

* * *

"It's all fine and dandy," Hajime said as she walked with Suge to the train station after class. Ma had to dash home, as their childminder had to leave earlier than planned and their two children could not be left alone. "But I still have no idea how to defend myself even if Aizawa is trying to whip us into shape."

"Did you never get into fist fights as a kid?" Suge quizzed.

"No," Hajime replied flatly. "Quirkless, remember? No one wanted to be in a ten-foot radius of me in case they caught something."

Ichi and Ni hissed distastefully, and even Suge stiffened. They waited at the crossing for the stoplight to indicate they could walk in uncomfortable silence. Eventually, Suge said; "Kids are cruel."

Hajime snorted. "Everyone is capable of being cruel, but little kids learn from example. It's fine, I'm over it, university was a wild time, and no one really cared there. You learn to surround yourself with people who don't care, and if Aunt Miwa ever coddled me the world would have to be ending."

"Still…" Suge insisted.

"It's fine, seriously," Hajime reassured, and stepped out onto the striped crossing with Suge as the lights finally changed and brought the traffic to a halt. Overhead, a Pro Hero flung themselves along the rooftops; vine-like limbs whipping out to grab onto buildings and swing themselves forwards. Hajime's lip curled in irritation. Some people had all the luck. "This still doesn't solve my big fat problem of not being able to fight, Aizawa thinking I'm not being serious, and a mountain of debt."

"Surely you know someone?"

Hajime racked her brains. When she'd been punted into a wall by that horrific creature a few months back, there had been Pros present at the scene. She'd been asked to sign a non-disclosure agreement concerning the three kids and the two men –one of whom was a serial killer– the aforementioned kids had pulled from an alley, had her hospital fees paid off by Endeavour (who had fathered one of the three foetus-Heroes involved and took credit for the whole shebang), and the rest of the Pros present had sort of shuffled uneasily and disappeared into thin air while Hajime was carted off to A&E.

All except Manual.

Hajime's eyes widened in remembrance. _Manual!_

"I can see why you don't smile often now," Suge grinned toothily. "You look like you're plotting murder. Did you figure something out?"

"I've got someone I can ask, but the issue is will he have time to help me?"

As it turned out, Manual was more than happy to help. Miwa had someone got a hold of his number –perhaps hoping that Hajime would ask for it too, and then discovering that her niece was more hopeless than she initially thought– and passed it along willingly when Hajime inquired about needing a personal trainer of sorts.

"I can't throw a decent punch," Hajime said around a mouthful of a breakfast pastry from a selection Manual had brought with him to their flat above Ensō one morning, in the following week from her and Suge's conversation. She coughed and dislodged a few scraps of flaky pastry from the corner of her mouth with the pad of her index finger. "I can't punch someone, but my legs are pretty strong."

Manual picked at his own croissant; he'd barely taken a bite of the thing, though he'd sliced it in half and placed some freshly chopped fruit inside. Likely because he was transfixed watching Hajime devour pastry after pastry with terrifying ease. "We can work with that."

At the head of the table, Miwa leant back in her seat with satisfaction and took a sip from her coffee cup. "We should do this more often. It's nice to have someone join us for breakfast."

"Been there, tried that, saved you from a messy divorce," Hajime quipped, wiping her mouth again and then her chest as more crumbs had accumulated below the neck of her t-shirt.

"I was talking about Mister Manual," said Miwa.

Hajime ran her tongue over her teeth, searching out pieces of pastry and the seeds from the jam she knew were stuck against her gums. "Pretty sure Mister Manual has better Hero-y things to do than sit with us every morning."

"Not at all!" Manual blustered. He swallowed, looking at Hajime directly. "It's… I, ah, I don't mind at all."

Hajime blinked and eyed up another pastry. "Sure. Are you going to eat that?"

Wordlessly, Manual handed over the untouched half of his croissant.

* * *

After successfully tracking down a clean t-shirt to work in, Hajime followed behind Manual (sans his Hero costume) to an open park.

It was strange for Hajime to see him in something other than the blue and white jumpsuit, fin-adorned helmet, and soft orange rubber gloves. Manual had turned up at the shop that morning in mottled grey joggers, a robin's egg blue coloured t-shirt with a small shark motif on the left sleeve, and nothing covering his fluffy brown hair. He was so… normal… and Hajime still couldn't quite wrap her head around it.

"What exactly are we going to be working on, Mister Manual?" Hajime inquired once they'd found a free area to work in inside the park and began to run through a simple set of stretches Suge had had to guide her through since Aizawa expected them to already know how to care for and warm up their bodies.

"You can just call me Masaki when I'm not on duty, Miss Itou."

"Hajime then."

"Hah-Hajime."

"You haven't told me what we're doing yet, so how can I start?" she asked cheekily. **[2]**

Masaki's shoulders drooped. He threaded his fingers through his hair and breathed in deeply. "I've somehow come to the realisation that you're always like this." Hajime shrugged. "I'm going to show you a few tricks that should help. You seem really well balanced, and you've mentioned that you have a lot of leg strength – so we could work on moves that require you to kick at an opponent."

"I can carry a load of heavy boxes, but I suppose that doesn't always transfer in strength?"

Masaki shook his head. "If you're not confident in using your fists, don't use them. Your legs have a longer reach than your arms anyway, which will keep your safer in the long run. I'm still going to teach you how to punch safely though. You'd be surprised at how many people mess up the basics."

Ever so slowly, Masaki demonstrated the basics. How not to damage your fingers and elbow when throwing a punch. Ensuring you didn't tuck your thumb inside your first when you struck, or that you led the move with your middle knuckle and twisted your arm slightly to prevent strain and the joints in the arm from locking uncomfortably.

"For you, unless you're in a position where you're sure you'll win or there's no other choice, I'd never advise you to punch someone in the face." Masaki made a fist and jabbed at various areas of his body. "The throat, lower abdomen, and groin are susceptible to damage, but boxing someone's ears can also throw them off for a few seconds."

He lay a hand against his abs. "Hitting someone in the stomach or throat and causing them to double over gives you time to pull your knee up and create greater impact. Depending on whether they've been trained or not, this also works as a strategy for them to release you and for you to put more space between them and yourself."

"Right…"

This was all useful stuff, and though Hajime didn't want to end up with a mass of debt if Aizawa deemed her to be slacking, she didn't really expect to make it past the first round. In fact, seeing how the Yuuei kids kicked the crap out of one another over internships and a shiny medal, Hajime hoped she was eliminated before the one-on-one battles began.

"Do you want to do some more warm ups and then we'll run through things again?" Masaki inquired. "We may as well try sparring too, once you've got some moves down."

Hajime nodded, and pulled the hooded sweatshirt she was wearing over her head; sighing in relief as the excess heat she felt from the warm autumnal sunshine and her stuffy clothing gave way to a gentle breeze. She looped the hoodie behind her and tied the sleeves in a tight, chunky knot around her waist.

"What are you wearing?" Masaki stammered. "You can't wear that here! It's a public park, there's children running around!"

Hajime's bright yellow t-shirt, a reprint of a relic Miwa had dug out of from a house sale a few years back and presented to Hajime as a gag-gift, seemed fine enough. Until you caught a glimpse of the slogan and two curving semi-circles –drawn like a heavily stylised and curvy 'W' with a solid dot in each convex slope– printed along the front. It had been a knock-off of some original anime merch way back when, apparently. Hajime had chosen to wear it because all her other (plain) tees were in the wash.

"It's too warm for me to wear this over the top," Hajime said, gesturing to her sweatshirt. "No one's going to be paying attention to it as I run, and I can't exactly run around in my bra."

"It's not right though," Masaki claimed, wincing as he read 'Oppai' once more and looking away swiftly from Hajime's chest. His hands dithered over the hem of his shirt, lifting the fabric slightly. "You can swap it out with mine, I'm not that cold."

Hajime tilted her head. Out of Masaki and herself, who was the exhibitionist? The one with a dodgy t-shirt or the one running bare-chested? "I'd rather we just run or something. I don't know about you, but I doubt being able to change out of a t-shirt without exposing myself indecently in public is going to come up in this tournament."

Not that she couldn't do that if she tried. At some point every woman had managed to get changed without ever having to take off her shirt, and it worked wonders if you wanted to remove your brassier without getting changed in the process. Much like magic, really.

As uncomfortable as he was with the bright yellow distraction Hajime was sporting, Masaki saw her point and relented. The pair took off at a light lope around the edge of the park, halting after a couple of laps and stretching again. Then, Hajime was shown the correct way to throw a balanced kick, how to escape an attacker's hold, and inadvertently kicked a Pro Hero in the crotch when putting one move into practice.

"I am so sorry," she stressed, helping Masaki hobble over to a vending machine.

"I think I'd be worried if you didn't land a hit at some point." He winced.

"Do you prefer anything?" She indicated to the array of drinks on offer.

"I'll take tea if they have it," Masaki grunted, lowering himself onto a small ornamental brick wall that divided this area of the park (near a set of public toilets) from the children's playground. Hajime ignored his sharp intake of breath when doing so; she had the kick of a cart horse it would seem, and Masaki had not been expecting it at all.

She bought a can of tea, one soda for herself, and a spare soda that was also ice cold. "Put it against your…" Hajime wafted the can around and scrunched up her face. "Well, y'know."

"What a pair we make," said Masaki. "You with your indecent t-shirt, and me placing cans in impolite places."

Hajime, for once, laughed. "I guess." She turned to him earnestly. "Do you seriously think I can pull this off?"

Masaki shifted the cold soda around, clenching it between his legs while he pulled the tab back on his can of tea. "Kick like that on the day, and who knows what could happen. Are Pros allowed in to watch the tournament at all?"

"I'm not entirely sure. I know we're all allowed two guest tickets, but I think the rest of the stands are going to be occupied by the students – or so Aizawa said." Hajime shook her head. "It makes a change for the kids, I guess, and it's all going to be televised; so not only do I have a burden not to land Auntie Miwa in debt, but I also have to make sure not to do anything stupid on camera."

"You're going to be fine."

Idly, Hajime swiped away a few beads of condensation that had gathered on the packaging of her peach flavoured drink as she contemplated. She bit her lower lip, then asked him anyway. "Would you come and watch me?"

Masaki nearly dropped his tea is shock. "I'd be honoured."

"It's only just, because, um, I feel like you've done a lot for me in the past few months – and you're nice, and you're bothering to teach me even though I'm… and I don't get that – so I want you to be able to see that your time hasn't gone to waste."

"Even if it had," Masaki informed her, "I'd still be happy to watch you."

"Oh."

They drank their drinks in relative peace after that, walked with one another to the entrance of the park, and went their separate ways home.

* * *

Hajime, stood in the train compartment and holding onto the overhead hand rails beside Masaki, wobbled uneasily on her feet. Miwa stared unimpressed at her niece as she jittered like Hiro – who also sat with them on the journey to Yuuei.

"I'm going to have my arse handed to me on national television," Hajime groaned. She was jolted against Masaki as the train shuddered, and flustered he righted her back onto her feet.

Miwa snickered, patting Hiro on the arm as he whined in agreement. "Look at it this way, other Pro Heroes before you have gone through the same."

Masaki looked very sheepish all of a sudden. "I mean, she's not wrong."

"That really makes me feel better." Hajime rolled her eyes. "I think I'm going to be sick."

"What happened to not caring at all about these classes?" Miwa teased.

"Oh, I don't know," Hajime snarked. "Maybe the two million Yen debt that would come from me dropping out."

Miwa's phone dropped into her lap from disbelief. "Kick their arses before they can kick yours."

Aunt Miwa looped her arm though Hiro's (jittering as always), as he escorted her to Yuuei's entrance. The tournament was held during the week before their fifth scheduled class, on a Friday so that all of Yuuei's current attending students could watch proceedings from the stands. Their next class would work as a follow up session to the festival and would see the fifteen –full number after dropouts to be ascertained– through designing an aesthetic for their Hero persona, and elements of their costume. One of the upcoming visitors worked in Yuuei's Support Department, likely someone learning alongside or teaching Hiro.

Poor Hiro's limbs seemed to be stuck at a mild, though near-constant vibration, and his teeth chattered as he separated himself from Miwa. A collection of students and guests were already assembled on the front steps by an expectant Aizawa.

"If you all want to head inside to your classroom, you've got uniforms waiting on your desks to change into." Aizawa ruffled the wrapping around his neck, yet they looked as tangled as usual. "I suggest you do that sooner rather than later; we'll be bussing your guests in to the arena first, and then the rest of the students will be walking over while we drive you."

Startled, Hajime looked to Miwa and Masaki while Suge –or rather, Ichi and Ni– yanked on her arm. Ma, introducing themselves to Miwa, indicated to two children clutching to their bandaged legs. Both children were also wrapped from head to toe and sported similar pudding basin haircuts to try and control their wild black curls. While one child wore dungarees, the other was dressed in a full-coverage romper – though the pair wore similar mismatched wellingtons and bright yellow rain coats.

"Ma, are these your little'uns?" Miwa squealed. Ma nodded and mumbled something close to Miwa's ear. "Of course, I'll keep an eye on them! Come on then chickadees, you get to watch from the stands with Auntie Miwa."

"Do you know, I don't think she was ever so maternal with me," Hajime whispered to Suge.

"You weren't as cute as Ma's twins!" Miwa called, somehow managing to overhear her niece.

The Mature Heroics students made what felt like the walk to their death sentence down the hall. Curious Yuuei students poked their heads out of the large windows beside their classrooms, and some even peered around open classroom doors while their teachers tried to reassemble some order. What awaited the fifteen students in the MH room were numerically labelled cases atop their desks – each signed to an equivalent seat number.

Tentatively, they unlocked the clasps on the brushed silver cases. Inside lay a neatly folded gym jersey and tracksuit pants, and, should Hajime's class not have brought their own that day, a set of spare sneakers, just as Aizawa had promised. Hajime felt a little disappointed, honestly, because instead of the unmistakable predominantly blue ensemble recognisable from televised sports festivals each year, the MH students' uniforms had been inverted.

In a deep, eye catching red, with minimal white accents, these suits were sure to make them stand out from the crowd. The blue piping –differing from the white outlines present on the standard student's gym kit– rounded off the whole notion that while the MH course was part of Yuuei, they were still ultimately a foreign and novel addition to the campus.

It wasn't surprising. Aizawa had told them to expect some intrigue. If not for Yuuei's agreement with multiple news sources that idling reporters lying in wait and pouncing on students wouldn't be tolerated after the USJ incident earlier in the year, there would no doubt be a clamouring audience outside of curious students waiting for the MH class. Still, a select crew who had agreed to work with Yuuei only to televise the impromptu festival, and not to harass the participants, were going to have enough coverage and cannon fodder on Hajime and her classmates for the coming months. It was only just dawning on Hajime Itou that thanks to her Aunt her plain face would be plastered everywhere come teatime.

Wordlessly, amongst them all there in that classroom passed an agreement. They would have to look out for one another outside of the arena, but inside –and with such high stakes resting upon them– no one was going to hold back. Not even for the Quirkless woman in their ranks, who wasn't going to restrain her kicks anymore; not with Masaki watching from the stands anyway.

The clicks of the clasps clunking when shut ricocheted around, and as one the group filed out to the changing rooms. Once changed, transported over to the arena they would be battling in via another of Yuuei's minibuses, and settled into their waiting rooms half an hour later, Aizawa reappeared.

"None of you have backed out then?" No one dared answer. "Good."

Hajime ran her hands over the blue stripes appliqued onto her tracksuit bottoms as though to reassure herself. Aizawa, who at the start of their classes had informed them that he was only the temporary teacher –and who was still here complaining about that five weeks later– looked proud of them all. Then the expression dimmed, so perhaps it was just wind causing Aizawa's lips to tug upwards?

"I can't say what awaits you out there. I wasn't told what the events are – and if you've seen a Yuuei Sports Festival before, then you'll know they're randomised. Do your best. Plus Ultra."

A chorus of weary, feeble 'Plus Ultra's resounded through the class.

"Give it five minutes and there should be an alarm. That's your two-minute warning, and an indicator that you should all be ready to walk down to the stadium." Aizawa hummed knowingly at his justifiably nervous students, then left.

"Oi. Itou," Minamoto growled once Aizawa had closed the door. "I want to see you in that final."

"Who even says I'm making it there?" Hajime moaned, watching Hiro's legs bounce apprehensively at an unprecedented rate with rapt attention. "I mean, what if one of the randomised trials is Quirk orientated only – bye bye Ensō, hello lifetime of poverty."

"It can't be that bad," Suge muttered. She looked to Ma; they had two young kids to support, and while no one liked to push judgement on anyone, how could someone with two small children support themselves, their kids, and manage to pay off a debt while working at the same time? "It won't be that bad. I think?"

"Who says any of us getting to the finals?" A dithering Hiro announced. "What if we're all set up to fail – 'cos I'm fuh-fairly sure the Sports Festival this year was rigged for the Heroics course."

Minamoto growled, slamming his hand on the large table in the middle of the waiting room. "It's s'not gonna be rigged, ya here! Don't half-arse it, Itou! I wanna fight my rival man to man."

Sentaro Minamoto's country roots were showing. As was his accent.

"Woah there, bub," call-me-Bob exclaimed. "But since when have you and Itou been rivals?"

"Since he followed me into the lady's loos and demanded it," Hajime answered. Sentaro did look cowed from the fact that he'd invaded a private space, and had been quite rude about his demand, but he could not be persuaded from accepting one Quirkless woman as his biggest obstacle to Herodom.

"That," Washi Ofuda sneered at Sentaro, "Is who you decide is your greatest enemy. You must not be much of a challenge then if she's difficult for you to overcome."

To be fair, Hajime trying to pick that morning's rice cracker snack from between her teeth hadn't given the greatest impression, but there was no need for Ofuda to be so rude about it. She knew she didn't amount to much, and she was only humouring Minamoto if only to get him off her back for a while. In no way was Hajime out to create more problems for herself – especially Washi Ofuda shaped problems. Problems were, well, problematic, often lead to injury, and were not welcome in Hajime Itou's life.

"Do you have an issue with me or something?" said Hajime coolly, eyes narrowing.

"Huh," Ofuda huffed. "If you're the enemy of my enemy, then I guess you're my enemy."

"What does that even mean?" muttered Hajime.

"It means," Washi clarified, fingers riffling and twisting through the beaded necklace that circled tautly about his neck, "That I'm going to do my best to take you down. Minamoto is mine to fight, Itou. Though of course, neither of you are a match for me in the end."

Sentaro snorted. "Ya think you can take Itou on in terms of tenacity? You've got another thing comin'."

A shrill bell rang throughout the waiting room, and the MH class jumped to their feet. It was time for them to assemble in the arena, and for the games to begin. Aizawa had stressed that they should file out accordingly onto the field in order of their seat numbers and not the unorganised rabble the larger Yuuei classes made.

Nestled between Kuchigiri and call-me-Bob, Hajime mumbled under her breath. "I wish everyone would stop drawing me into stupid fights."

Call-me-Bob ran the flat of his palm across his slick blue, spiralling pompadour. Whether he used hair gel on that monstrosity, or if it naturally looked like incredibly hard –yet glossy– rubber, Hajime wasn't certain. But call-me-Bob's hair did not tousle underneath his hand. "Boys will be boys I guess."

"That, or idiocy is catching," Hajime agreed.

"Minamoto must think highly of you though Itou," Kuchigri added, eying the young woman up and down appreciatively. "I can see why."

"I really, really hope you don't."

It was as though they were reliving their introductory class all over again. One by one they followed each other like tiny red ants in a long production line out towards the stage in the middle of a lush green field. It had been six or so months since Yuuei's first years had duked it out in this arena, and with the advancement of Quirks in society it was highly likely that someone outside of Yuuei's roster of capable Hero staff had been contracted to fix up the cracks in the concrete and the scorch marks on the turf.

A familiar Hero stood on the stage. Little was known about Hound Dog outside of his tendency to drift into yipping, growls, and howls mid speech if he felt impassioned, but somehow, he'd been drafted to play adjudicator today. Aizawa had to be impartial to his class, so sat with the other staff in one the arena's private boxes. Midnight, or Headmaster Nedzu, who usually overlooked and refereed matches, were nowhere in sight. But over head-

"Aaaaand here they are! Yuuei's first ever Mature Heroics class!"

-was Present Mic.

"Indeed," chimed a mischievous tone. "And I'm unlikely to get in trouble for thinking naughtily about this lot, am I?

And there was Midnight, taking over the role of co-announcer. Two of Yuuei's most outgoing Heroes, situated in an enclosed booth, together at once. What could possibly go wrong?

"Let it be known that this batch of students have been trained up by Eraserhead!" Mic drawled. "But enough of that, over to you Hound Dog to introduce our competitors!

Hound Dog adjusted the microphone stand so that the mic rested level with their muzzle. A sharp pant of breath and the clack of canine teeth snapping together minutely could be heard, then; "Mature Heroics – aroof! Grrr… hraaaagh! Fifteen – awooOoOOooooaaAAaargh! Hah-hargh- wruff."

The microphone shrieked with feedback, and Hajime clamped her hands over her ears.

"Did you get any of that?" she asked loudly. To her surprise, Suge, Nanako Yamori, and Subako Fujita all nodded. The rest of the class were just as clueless as Hajime.

Rustling from the voice over booth could be heard, and some protestation as a another Hero snatched one of the announcer's microphones away from them.

"What Hound Dog was trying to say," explained the Pro, Vlad King, "Was that these are our fifteen Mature Heroics students, chosen from nationwide applications for their diversity. If they'd like to give a little wave as we introduce them-"

One by one, and with a camera drone flying above and next to them to capture each awkward twitchy smile, apathetic nod, and dorky wave, the students put a face to their name.

"I'd better get down there and help translate for Hound. Vlad King over and out."

"Well," said Present Mic after recovering his microphone. "You heard it here first listeners! Fifteen fresh students proving that you can teach old dogs new tricks."

On stage, Hound Dog howled in agreement.

* * *

 **[1]** Making a quick search online informs me that Japanese Highs school tuition fees are roughly ¥12,917,000 (£88,000 or so). Considering that Yuuei offers an extensive and rare education, and their facilities are the best of the best – plus these are matures students – I doubled that. (¥20,000,000 = £135,579). Bear in mind that for state schools in the UK, you're probably pushing £100,000 of tax payer's money (and perhaps even more!) to see you through Primary and Secondary education, then a further £50,000 to see you through an Undergraduate degree. Staying on to do a Post Grad degree, or a PhD, racks up even more costs. I know the MH course isn't a full three-year high school tuition, which is why the cost for ten weeks had been inadvertently ramped up. Essentially the MH are undergoing an intensive crash course – and damn can they be expensive when you factor in the equipment, logistics, and any other necessities being covered.

 **[2]** "Hajime" can be a command to "begin" or 'start'. Yes, you guessed it, it's another dumb name pun!

* * *

 **Just a quick reminder of the MH class!**

1

Sentaro Minamoto – Poniard

2

Washi Ofuda – Talisman

3

Hitomi Hisakawa – Third Eye

4

Komori Momoku – Magnetroception

5

Hiro Tanaka – Stability

6

Souma Souta – Air/Wind Manipulation

7

Nanako Yamori – Chameleon

8

Tsurutsuru Abura – Lardon

9

Suge Yato – Snake Hands

10

Subako Fujita – Hive

11

Hideaki Kuchigiri – Trouser Talk

12

Hajime Itou [QUIRKLESS]

13

Robert "Bob" Takahashi – Bounce

14

Tsuchiko Usakichi – Bunny

15

Ma Hotai – Mummy Man

* * *

 **Musical Inspiration:**

"Mr Simple" – Super Junior, 'A-Cha'

"Retrograde" – James Blake, 'Overgrown'


	5. What a Yoke

**A/N [17/11/2018] :** Apologies for the massive gap between updates. My wonderful Beta and I have had a few deadlines and computer troubles over the past few weeks - all sorted now thankfully. Thank you for being so patient, and for just reading this story in general actually. I love what people can do with OC's, and while I don't expect this story to be particularly well received it's still lovely to see people are choosing to read _Late Hero Academia,_ despite how I'm treating it like a massive non-canonical sandbox.

* * *

Beta, as always, by the wonderful _**InsertImaginativeNameHere**!_

* * *

 **LATE HERO ACADEMIA**

 **CHAPTER FIVE**

 **WHAT A YOKE**

* * *

Fifteen solitary figures waited awkwardly on the turf as Vlad King hustled his way from the commentator's box to the stage in the middle of the arena. Hound Dog had tried to proceed with introductions, safety procedures, and the rules, but no one without some form of animalistic function to their Quirk could really understand the Hero's sentiment. That did not stop Hound Dog from howling up a storm and causing a slew of crackly, screeching feedback from his microphone.

Five minutes too late, Vlad King appeared to rescue everyone's ears. "Ah, sorry." (He didn't look very apologetic.) "Got caught on the stairs."

From the corner of her eye, Hajime could see Minamoto hopping from foot to foot impatiently. Vlad King shared a glance with Hound Dog; the latter shrugged and jabbed a clawed thumb at his abandoned microphone. The Blood Hero sighed and smiled tiredly at his colleague.

"Apologies, Hound Dog is a little overwhelmed by this audience, so they're leaving the referee work to me. This is usually the point where we'd introduce a student representative to open the games, but…" The fifteen MH students stared blearily back at Hound Dog's replacement. "This is different from our usual broadcast entirely."

Scratching at his chin, and pressing the canines situated in his lower jaw gently against his upper lip, Vlad King eyed the MH class in return. "On behalf of all the staff and students of Yuuei, I would like to say, 'Do your best!'. May this day be auspicious, may you fight with all your power for victory. I declare these games open…"

Thankfully, the Pro was saved from further waffling by the arrival of a large LED screen; lowered down by two thick wires from who knows where to rest behind Vlad King's hulking form. "…Right…"

Hajime was once again struck with the notion of why Midnight or Headmaster Nedzu, or, well, anyone more outgoing than Vlad King hadn't been asked to host this. Hound Dog… didn't really count, and it wasn't as though Aizawa could sneak them help when Minamoto and Ofuda started tearing strips off of one another – so why someone had presumed he would and forced him to sit out Hajime wasn't certain. Present Mic was usually stuck in the announcer's box, as was customary, but surely other members of Yuuei's faculty could have stepped up to the plate? She rolled her eyes to call-me-Bob.

"Students of Mature Heroics," Vlad King began. "Today you will compete in three trials; two randomised and geared towards elimination, and a third solely focused on combat prowess. Let us reveal what this first event is!"

"Woah." Hajime jerked to the side to miss call-me-Bob's elbow nudging at her ribs while he muttered to her. Dodging further injuries (first reinforced by Aunt Miwa, and later by rogue genetically engineered monsters) was a rather handy skill of Hajime's. "That actually sounded partway enthusiastic then."

The LCD screen, which had at first been set to a static background –just a high-resolution motif of Yuuei's logo– and occasionally flicking through fifteen separate mugshots (which served as the identification images on the MH student's ID cards), burst into life. Blurring like a roulette wheel, the screen finally settled on one trial. The students in the stands watching the event roared, as did Minamoto.

"A crappy egg n' spoon race?! Y'gotta be shittin' me," Sentaro spat, rolling up the sleeves of his gym uniform so that they sat high up on his shoulders in uneven, wrinkly folds.

Confusion spread through both the competitors and the spectators. Vlad King looks as though he very much regretted deciding to save the day and appear onstage; though he hadn't appeared too impressed with the MH students to begin with either. Though a little disgruntled at Minamoto's tantrum (like a petulant child stomping their feet during party games), the rest of the MH class couldn't help but feel the same prick of irritation. A children's game? Really?

"The task is simple," Vlad King stated, a stream of blood shooting from the finger tip of his glove like a makeshift pointing stick. The hardened blood, swung about so that the Hero could indicate to the flashing diagrams of the first trial on the LCD screen, glinted prettily in the mid-morning sunlight. "Each student will be given a metal spoon and a fragile coloured egg developed by our Support Department. The eggs and the spoons are coded to each individual, so there's no chance of cheating. You have five minutes to keep your egg from being removed from your spoon, dropping either object, or from having your egg destroyed."

Excited chatter filled the air, but all Hajime wished to do was shrink into herself. She would be the first one to lose her egg, she was sure. She didn't have Minamoto's brute strength, Suge's flexibility and partnership with Ichi and Ni, or whatever it was that Ofuda had hiding up his sleeves. To top it all off, and despite the strength in her legs, she had no Quirk to protect her. She was the underdog in this situation yet again.

"And yes," Vlad King assured. "The destruction of others' eggs is encouraged – but at all costs, protect your own egg. If it is slightly damaged, dropped, or destroyed, the egg will implode, and you will be eliminated from this round. For those of you watching at home, here's how to keep track of the eliminations."

Vlad King selected a prop egg and a spoon from a container he had up on stage with him (which had been magicked up from somewhere). "Observe," he said, nestling the egg into the dip of the spoon. Then, he upended it, and the egg's shell cracked upon impact with the floor into a hail of eggshell and a cloud of coloured smoke. The Hero activated his Quirk once more, creating a wall of crystallised blood and quickly fled behind it to avoid the chalky pigment of the smoke sticking to his jumpsuit and equipment.

On the large screen, a snapshot of Vlad King had appeared, along with a hollow oval shape. Said shape filled in green to depict an 'active' egg when the Hero's physical egg touched the spoon, then morphed into a dangerous red colour as soon as said egg was destroyed.

"Each student will have a symbol next to them on the screen, and as you've witnessed, the symbol works as a status updater. Those with green eggs when ten minutes is over, or those who reach the cut off point for qualifying time-wise but have damaged their egg, will still progress to the next round."

Reluctantly, Hajime joined the queue of students ready to receive their egg. She plucked a standard kitchen spoon from the canister set to the side of the stage, then shuffled behind Kuchigiri as Vlad King handed him an egg with a deep, navy-blue shell. As soon as Kuchigiri's egg met the surface of his spoon, his ID picture pinged up on the still-lit screen, along with a green egg-shaped icon. A quick survey of the others showed Hajime that each student had their own brightly coloured egg.

Hajime was handed a plain, speckled peach one, which rather suspiciously resembled an average free-range egg. She blinked, unimpressed, at Vlad King. Honestly, what had she been expecting; it likely wasn't a jab at her for being Quirkless and plain compared to her classmates (who had eggs ranging in colours across a rainbow spectrum), but Hajime still felt a small sting at the atypical assumption that she wasn't worth the effort without a power to call her own. She sucked her lower lip into her mouth, squared her shoulders, and placed her egg onto her spoon – making way for call-me-Bob to take his aquamarine egg from Vlad King.

"Everyone sorted?" Vlad King inquired. "Disperse."

Vlad would wait on the stage to oversee the event, and to keep an eye out for any trouble. The MH class, despite the explanations and demonstrations of their task, couldn't help but feel that they were all running in blind. Still, they scattered across the open sports field surrounding the central stage.

"All right all right all right!" Now came time for Present Mic and Midnight to take over the commentary. "We're all set to go!"

Midnight chuckled, her rich timbre gathering a lot of attention. "And remember lovelies," she crooned. "Anything goes so long as you egg isn't destroyed, damaged, and if it doesn't leave your spoon. Co-operation? Evasion? Total domination? You decide."

You could almost hear Midnight's cat-o-nine tails cracking in the distance.

* * *

"We're sticking together right?" Hitomi rocked on her feet beside Komori as the two prepared for the trial to begin.

Truthfully, Hitomi Hisakawa had only known Komori Momoku for just over a month, but she never thought she could feel so close to another person. Maybe it was Komori's Quirk in action, or her own, or possibly something else, but Hitomi was going to hold onto this person for as long as possible.

"Mm," Komori hummed, fingers tightening around the handle of her metal spoon. She eyed Sentaro Minamoto, not too far away from them, anxiously. He was looking around wildly; raring to fight. Komori didn't like it at all. Not one bit. "Let's do our best."

* * *

Predictably, the Mature Heroics students had spread across the field like a bag of dropped marbles – scattering everywhere. If people were smart, and Hajime had discovered over the years that most people weren't, they would stay out of reach and simply wait out the others going gung ho. There were notable exceptions to this; Senatro Minamoto would likely charge on ahead and happily go egg crushing if Hajime presumed correctly, in comparison to Hiro who would likely hold back.

Speaking of Hiro, Hajime found she was in the same corner of the field as the Mature Heroic's youngest student, and she shuffled her way closer to him. His Quirk, Hajime recalled, had something to do with stabilising. While she had no idea whether Hiro's Quirk functioned how she hoped it did, she was reluctant to be knocked out in the first round. Perhaps a deal could be brokered. If not… then she'd have to get creative. Hiro didn't look like he wanted to take any chances either – he was too nervous, and his egg already rattled atop his spoon.

Then again, if Hiro Tanaka was too terrified to compete it ultimately worked to Hajime's advantage. One less person to deal with, she supposed. She wasn't sure she liked this new and shrewd line of thought filling her head, but currently Hajime had little time to contemplate on it.

"BEGIN!"

No sooner had the trial started did three people get eliminated. Everyone had their own strategies, but like Hajime had predicted Sentaro had gone gung-ho and taken down Hitomi, Komori, and Subako (who had unfortunately been caught in the crossfire). Hajime hadn't even seen him move; one moment everyone was waiting, and the next three people were out. What even was Sentaro's Quirk? Shouldn't rivals know these things about each other?

Deciding she didn't really care enough after all, Hajime went forward with her plan to stick by Hiro.

"Hey," she said, nearly tripping over a knoll of lush grass. "Want to team up?"

Hiro paled. "You're just going to knock my egg away either way!"

"How?" Hajime drawled. "And can't you just use your Quirk? Your egg is pretty much indestructible then."

"What do you- oh." An epiphany had revealed itself inside Hiro Tanaka's mind. He activated his Quirk, and suddenly his jittery limbs and the egg (which had been rattling precariously) stilled. The change was startling; Hajime had never seen him so still before. "Why didn't I think of that?"

Hajime shrugged. "Who knows. I'm not going to fight you though. There's not really much point, all I want to do is pass."

Around them, people were darting around as Quickly as they dared – all the while maintaining the perfect balance to keep their egg from toppling from their spoons. Hajime ran some quick mental maths in her head; technically, there was always a showdown between four people in the penultimate round of the normal Yuuei sports festivals, then the final battle to determine the winner. To get to that point, at least four people had to be eliminated by the end of each round. Fifteen really was an awkward number of students for a class. A total of seven people had to be knocked out before the combat battles began. If Hajime could hold on until then, and make it into the last eight students standing, then she had a pretty good chance of not being considered a half-arser. That meant no debt, and a little bit of pride over being able to make it into the final rounds.

The last eight sounded good then. Hajime huffed and nodded to herself in agreement. Across the field, Sentaro took down another student. The rest were too frightened to move further afield or to dare move while Sentaro picked them off one by one. Ofuda was actually sitting down – one hand holding his egg and spoon, the other resting lightly on his knee in a meditation pose.

Both she and Hiro hissed when Nanako Yamori –the woman with a chameleon Quirk– jumped out from behind Ofuda and slammed into an invisible wall. She'd been doing her best to blend in with the scenery, but it had not been enough to counteract whatever barrier Ofuda had constructed. Was this his Quirk in action? Hajime wondered. If so, how and when had he erected a tangible blockade?

"Valiant effort," Ofuda scoffed. Yamori had dropped her spoon in shock, and swiftly he swiped up her egg and crushed it for good measure – tossing the smoking wreckage of the shell at the stunned woman. "But I think not."

"Y-You know," Hiro said. Four people had been eliminated at this point, and Hajime nodded to herself. That meant approximately three people were going to be knocked out of the next round and it didn't matter so much if her egg was destroyed. "You helped me, so I suppose it's only fair I help you in return."

"How so?"

"Minamto's going to be after you in a bit – just look at him."

Sentaro Minamoto was on the warpath. Komori was comforting a sobbing Hitomi, their eggs and the coloured, chalky fog inside swirling around them. Subako, underneath their hooded coat –which they'd somehow got away with wearing over their Yuuei gym uniform– was likely devastated about being eliminated from the first round so carelessly if the slump of the posture was anything to go by. People were being eliminated left right and centre now. Carelessness, Minamoto on the rampage, accidentally backing into Ofuda's barrier (whose radius had tripled) and getting zapped. Hiro and Hajime were yet to move from where the originally stood.

"Midnight said as long as you didn't drop either item you were okay. Why not hide it or rest it somewhere?"

"Somehow I can't see balancing a spoon on my head is going to keep it safe," Hajime smiled thinly. "Although Miwa would never let me model for Enso again if my posture was abominable. Good plan, but unless he's on his way over here I don't think I'll need to execute it."

Hajime, naturally, spoke too soon.

"Itou!" She jumped as Minamoto howled. "Prepare yourself."

Swearing under her breath, Hajime shared a baleful glance with Hiro and though about where she could hide her egg. So long as the spoon, egg, or both, were not 'separated' or 'dropped' (specifically ending up on the floor), Hajime could afford to let go of the spoon handle.

"Cover me!" She hissed to Hiro.

Hiro was safe; he'd yet to so much as wobbled while using his Quirk on himself, and his body was eerily stiff – much like a marble statue. Hajime held her egg and spoon out to the side, then slipped the zip down on her tracksuit top. There was, after all, only one other protected, level space on her body, and rezipping up her top would help stabilise everything; creating a constant state of pressure from all sides so that the egg could not detach from the metal spoon. Miwa had compared The Girls to a shelf before now, and Hajime was willing to put them to good use rather than binding them down like she normally did.

* * *

Washi Ofuda liked to think he was a man of refined skill. He had not been trained to fling his powers around like Minamoto, who seemed to think flashily zipping about and flexing his muscles to terrify his opponents would work. No, Ofuda had more brain cells than that. Obviously. It was a shame that Minamoto didn't either, because surely the brute would acknowledge Washi as his rival over some Quirkless bint with an exhibitionist kink.

Washi sneered. Who unzipped their top on national television and thought they could get away with it?

Hajime Itou did not belong in their class –she hadn't since the first lesson, and surely couldn't remain much longer after revealing she was Quirkless– but so far Aizawa was yet to expel her. Washi couldn't wrap his head around it. He, who had trained with the Monks by his home, who had placed countless hours, blood, sweat, and tears into creating and refining techniques, who had endured arduous lessons and the hand cramp that came with perfecting one's calligraphy. He was the going to be the one to win this tournament and was certainly the best adapted to becoming a Hero so late in life (his studies had lasted up until his eighteenth birthday, and the past three years had seen Washi placing more effort in physical conditioning). Still Hajime Itou persisted. Sentaro Minamoto, the cretin, hounded after her. He wouldn't when Ofuda had his way.

Washi had stayed low. Created a simple repelling barrier with his Quirk, generally used in warding homes and driving malicious entities away – but also impeccably useful in a pinch for defensive purposes against the living. There he had sat untouched for the past eight minutes, gently slipping into a meditative state. The clocked ticked ominously on, and still, Hajime Itou had not been eliminated.

* * *

"So far we've lost seven of our fifteen competitors – Minamoto is unstoppable!" cried Present Mic.

"Iiitooou…" came the menacing call. Hajime had the distinct feeling that if not for Hiro's Quirk being active, the teen would be quivering in his sneakers.

"There's two minutes remaining on the clock," Midnight continued with a faint, playful purr underlying her following words. "But do our remaining competitors have enough remaining in the tank to see through to completion?"

Hajime and Hiro, as well as Ofuda off in the distance, had yet to move or exert themselves. The only one's who were really putting up a fight were those with highly offensive Quirks –such as Minamoto– or those on defence because they had no other way of backing themselves up with their powers, like Suge, who held her spoon in her mouth as steadily a she could while Ichi and Ni hissed threateningly at anyone who so much as twitched near them. Ma was a large and intimidating enough figure that people instinctively avoided getting close, and a faint, dangerous red glow emancipated from beneath their bandages around the area of their left eye.

"Itou!" barked Sentaro Minamoto; his unoccupied hand reaching up to his choppy hair and tugging at one ashy lock. Hajime yelped when something sharp landed by her feet. Had Minamoto just thrown his hair at her? "That was a warning Itou! Fight me!"

Swearing again (with a ferocity which made Hiro's cheeks blush), Hajime retreated further back – skimming dangerously close now to the walls of the arena. Sentaro kept on coming though, and she would have to think fast. It didn't matter so much if her egg was shattered or dropped at this point; with over a minute left on the clock, Hajime was assured a place in the next round. Now only her pride stood in the way. She'd come this far and stuffed an egg and a spoon down her top, she may as well stick it out for the foreseeable.

"Hiro? Help me out here," Hajime tried. Hiro shook his head, and while she couldn't blame him, Hiro jumping ship before Minamoto could turn on him too left her more than a little disgruntled. She could have done with his stabilising Quirk for an extra preventative measure. "Thanks a lot, Tanaka."

"Do-don't mention it," Hiro replied, scuttling away.

"Itou." Grunted Sentaro.

"Minamoto."

"Fight me."

"Why?"

Minamoto frowned. One silvery scar that resided on his face and not his arms and neck, twisted along his temple with the action. "Whadda'ya mean, 'Why'? Rivals fight, so we're fightin'."

Hajime sighed. "What I mean is, why should I fight you now?" Thirty seconds remained. "I'm through to the second round, and if it's going to be anything like this farce then I'll end up battling you then at some point."

Minamoto nodded like this made all the sense in the world, but Hajime knew that even if she did somehow miraculously make it past the next trial she would be bowing out or getting her arse handed to her in the one-on-one fights. It was only natural. Hiding a spoon, avoiding getting beat up; easy-peasy. All straight forward stuff. People were likely already going crazy online (and not in a good way) for the lamest opening round to a Sports Festival ever, along with a bunch of fossils with questionable hand-eye coordination. The news would be running ragged with Yuuei's unimpressive MH trial group for weeks.

Sentaro huffed, resigning himself to Hajime's logic. Ten seconds remained.

"Guess I'll see you there, rival," he said, extending his hand for Hajime to clasp with her own as a symbol of their (pseudo) promise to meet each other in the final round. Hajime did so, but upon the first stern shake of Minamoto's palm, she sneezed, violently. Unbalanced by how Hajime's hand twitched as her whole body folded from the force of her sneeze, Sentaro's balance tried to compensate. Unfortunately, it was too late, and his egg landed with a dull thud against the grass.

"And that's time!" Bellowed Present Mic.

Minamoto's hand tightened dangerously around Hajime's own.

"I really didn't mean for that to happen," Hajime lisped weakly, feeling her fingers begin to break and groan in his grasp.

"I'll see you in the final round, Itou."

* * *

"All right, gather round," Vlad King commanded. The LCD changed back to it's roulette display, and span intently. Slowly, the rotating name cards of potential second round trials flashed by, until, eventually grinding to a halt. "The trial for round two is-"

"Orienteering!" Midnight chirped up in the commentator's box over the dull roar of the crowd. "How intriguing – and in the dark too. I much prefer the light being on." (Let it be known that Midnight was never ashamed to reinforce her status as an R-rated Hero, and that she'd never pass on the opportunity to make someone blush.)

"You'll have fifteen minutes to find the centre of a maze," Vlad King stated robotically, watching a play by play diagram as it appeared on the screen behind him. "Again, anything goes, but your objective is to reach the centre."

Being shuffled off the sports field and back into the waiting room while the next challenge was announced, and the four who were eliminated that round hustled to the stadium seats to sit with their friends and family, took a further twenty minutes. What Yuuei and the broadcasters did in that spare time was a mystery. If what people at home were watching was anything like the broadcast for the standard Yuuei Sports Festival, then a play-by-play recap of the first trial was commencing. Hajime sticking a spoon down her top would be trending soon enough, much to her horror.

The waiting room lacked four people. Aizawa, like a scarfed denizen of doom, appeared in the doorway. "Good work out there. It was a shame four of you went down that easily, but it's over and done with now I guess. Nice work eliminating later threats there, Minamoto. Very forward thinking of you."

Was Sentaro Minamoto capable of forward thinking? Hajime pondered. She rubbed at her sternum, feeling something sharp dig in through the fabric of the sports bra her Aunt Miwa had foisted upon her. She leant forwards across the open table top adjacent to where she sat and snagged a water bottle from the selection placed there, taking her time to rip the cap off and have a languid sip while Aizawa debriefed each student's performance.

"Itou," Aizawa said after he'd finished dissecting Hiro's epiphany to use his Quirk (though, it was less of an epiphany and more of Hajime teaching him about common sense). "Somehow you spirited your egg away and still managed to pass. Well done. Don't let this first round fool you, though. Things can only get harder from here on out, and you'll be in a better situation to use your abilities to the best of your skill."

With that golden nugget of advice passed to the eleven remaining Mature Heroics students, Aizawa left.

"Cheerful, isn't he?" Call-me-Bob grinned. That elicited a round of tired laughter and provoked a series of tepid conversation up until the second round was due to begin.

"Where did you put your egg, Hajime?" Suge asked; her own egg had been destroyed eventually by Minamoto, like nearly everyone's had been – despite Suge, Ichi, and NI's best attempts to deflect any oncoming projectiles. Ichi and Ni coiled restlessly around her body like a scaly, writhing waistcoat.

The class averted their eyes as Hajime tugged down the zipper on her top once more. "Ta dah," she exclaimed flatly, holding out an undamaged egg and a rather clammy spoon. "Why aren't you wearing shoes?"

Hajime hadn't noticed earlier, but Suge was indeed not wearing anything on her feet. Ichi and Ni, currently twined around Suge's torso, slowly began to unwind.

"I struggle without having hands, but can do most things with my mouth-" here Suge wiggled her eyebrows at the rest of the group, "-but I've learnt to get by using my feet; can write with them, hold chopsticks – y'know, the sort of tasks that require fine motor controls."

"Laces?" Ma inquired softly.

Suge shook her head. "Nah. Velcro all the way."

* * *

Komori held onto Hitomi's hand while the younger woman sniffled. She had burst into frustrated tears and had yet to stop sobbing since Sentaro Minamoto had wiped them both out of the competition. Komori, with her Quirk, should have been able to sense something was off. Hitomi also should have been able to predict what was going to happen, and if she had done so would have likely acted in accordance.

But she hadn't, and now they were both eliminated.

"I should have used it," Hitomi whimpered. "I didn't finish college because the fees became too much – how can I even begin to pay back twenty-million yen?"

Hitomi's Quirk, 'Third Eye', was essentially, a mutant form of precognition. The large bulge on her forehead, when her fringe was pushed back or a wrapping she placed over the bump removed, revealed an eerie, unblinking eyeball. Hitomi's icy blue eyes were striking enough, the crystalline periwinkle and pupil-less appendage made one's breath catch in their throat. This worked to Hitomi's advantage. When activated, her eye allowed her to see a scant few seconds into the future; if her opponents were stunned before activation, well, all the better for her.

Komori's own Quirk would have also been helpful when trying to avoid an attack – and a power that while forced to use constantly, Komori had managed to wrangle into a vague white noise to preserve her sanity. 'Magnetroception', despite what the name implied, allowed Komori to sense Magnetic fields. Her vision had been poor as a child (and still was to this day, if the thickly lensed varifocals she wore indicated anything), but her Quirk was a brilliant crutch to help her get by.

The same kinds of navigation ability could be found in animals, but that was where Komori's Quirk diverted. Instead of the innate sense mammals such as bats had, Komori needed a metallic object present for her Quirk to activate. Yet she had been surrounded with spoons galore and was still defeated. Komori had grown complacent; the faint buzz of metallic and magnetic objects clouding her senses –which she purposefully dulled these days– had been her undoing.

Komori couldn't afford to pay back the fees either, and her parents certainly wouldn't bail her out anymore. Both she and Hitomi were devastated. Subako, sat just to Komori's right side, had yet to utter a word about their defeat. The hood of the jacket Subako sported was pulled low over their face.

All of those who had been eliminated from the first round –Komori, Hitomi, Subako, and Nanako (the young woman with the chameleon Quirk)– had been ushered to sit in the stands. They were in a separate viewing box from their teachers, but unfortunately not isolated from their younger peers, or as some viewing the tournament might think, superiors. One of those children, seated in a viewing box in the arena to their left, a kid with spiky blond hair, sneered at the four MH student who had been knocked out. Komori felt Hitomi's fingers curl tighter around her arm, and her own lip curl in response.

When Aizawa appeared, sitting beside his disgraced students with a grunt –his eyes steadily fixed on the ant-like figures of the rest of the Mature Heroics class scattering over the sports field in preparation for their second task– the four of them hung their heads lower.

"Shall I let you into a little secret?" Aizawa drawled, and though the four didn't answer, the way their bodies jolted was enough of an affirmative answer. "There is no debt."

"You mean," Hitomi jolted to her feet in a curious display of anger for someone so timid, "that this was all to get us to-"

"Try your hardest? Not treat this like a waste of time?" Aizawa concluded. "Precisely. A logical ruse; you'd be surprised with how effective they are on children – and adults, it would seem."

"But why…" Hitomi whimpered. "All of that stress, for nothing. Children only have to worry about their studies, or what their friends think of them, or something else unimportant. Some of us have serious money problems and you think you can just twist everything to your whims?"

Aizawa's hair stood on end as he activated his Quirk. Hitomi's own powers, if activated at that time, would have shown her his answer and nothing more. Only, she hadn't activated them, just like she hadn't used her Quirk at all during the first round, so Aizawa's display of power was just that really; another empty intimidation attempt.

Hitomi wisely sat back down in her seat at the sight of floating hair, scarves, and dimly lit glowing red eyes.

"Do you know," said Aizawa conversationally, "That the class of twenty children off to your left went through the same thing on their first day here at Yuuei. I thought I'd push them a little, see how they performed under pressure. You might think that children only worry over trivialities, but that day I saw them put in effort. I watched them push themselves because no one wanted to be ranked last and expelled – didn't want to deal with the disgrace of falling at the first hurdle. One kid actually blew up his own finger and even then, he continued on with the rest of the tests."

It was Subako who spoke this time, low and gravelly. "So?"

"So, like them, you underwent one of my logical ruses. However, unlike my young students, you put inadequate effort into this event. There is no punishment to your failure other than your own inability, and I expect better from you all next time or I, and Headmaster Nedzu, won't be so lenient. The debt was a lie, but that crushing blow you felt was not."

Aizawa rose from his seat, posture slouched. His eyes skimmed the remaining competitors out on the field once more. "Also, do you honestly think Itou would give it her all unless there was some form of incentive driving her forwards?"

"Oh," Nanako breathed, realisation dawning on her features. "You're a sadist, aren't you?"

"Personally, I think Midnight better fits that description," said Aizawa, head tilted to indicate the announcer's box where Present Mic and Midnight were chatting up a storm. "I'm overly fond of mind games though."

"Then where does Itou fit into all of this?" Komori questioned. Hajime, stood next a jittery Hiro, sneezed suddenly. She swiped at her nose in irritation while the teen looked at her in concern. The next round was to begin shortly.

"Hajime Itou is an anomaly," answered Aizawa honestly. "A Quirkless student mistakenly signed up for a trial Hero course, and someone who vehemently denies this lifestyle – let alone choose it for herself. But with a little incentive, she'll outstrip the rest of you."

They bristled at that, but of course, it was only instinctual that they did. All of their lives, these adults had been fed lines about how their powers were brilliant, and how the latter defined them, and how they were superior because of their Quirks. To have someone who could attest to knowing and experiencing all of the aforementioned felt similar to a threat. A Quirkless person, as Aizawa had stated, was an anomaly – and it was only in adulthood that Komori, Hitomi, Subako, and Nanako had begun to realise that power wasn't everything. Quirks couldn't solve unemployment rates, nor could they put food on your table. Money and adult lifestyle choices could.

Quirks weren't short cuts. Some Quirks made life more difficult. Some Quirks weren't powerful enough, and some people had grown so complacent in utilising their gifts that they were of no use at all – as Hitomi had already demonstrated. Hajime Itou, though she tried her best not to, shined sometimes. She'd been dealt what society deemed as the worst hand ever, and yet there she was stood toe to toe with Sentaro Minamoto and Washi Ofuda; the two declaring themselves her rivals.

"I want to see how far she can be pushed, and how far she'll allow herself to go," Aizawa said finally. "You can inform others who are eliminated about the ruse, even Itou, if she surprises me and doesn't make it as far as I think she will. But don't breathe a word about it to those still in."

"He's a super sadist," Nanako muttered, watching the ends of Aizawa's scarves sweeping the floor behind him as he left. "I almost feel for Itou, y'know."

"You have to admit it though…" Komori smiled grimly, feeling thoroughly chagrined. "Aizawa does have a point. She'd never be as invested, and neither would we have been, if there wasn't some sort of threat looming over us."

Subako snorted. "At least I tried to defend my egg though. Why would you even shove it down the front of your shirt?"

The heavy cloud of disappointment hovering over the four eliminated students burst, and uncontrollable laughter (fuelled also by a hysterical and overwhelming sense of relief) filled the air. The sadness and consecutive jubilation soon dissolved into a gossiping session.

"Probably thought it was the last place Minamoto would aim for," Komori smirked. "Though damn, I get some pretty strong tension off of that kid."

Nanako wiggled her eyebrows. "Are you saying what I think you're saying?"

"Possibly," Komori returned, and frowned. Sentaro Minamoto didn't take no for an answer, and he had an overwhelming presence. Did he know what sexual tension was? Probably not. "Though if I'm right, neither of the pair realise it. For a start, I don't think Minamoto realises how his puppy-dog attitude can be interpreted."

"I think you mean pitbull attitude," corrected Subako, earing another round of laughter. "Also, Itou looks pretty dense too."

"If you ask me," Hitomi hedged, "I'd say Itou was already seeing someone. There was that plain-looking bloke stood with her Aunt this morning, and he had to be around our age at least."

This time, both Hajime and Masaki fell into a bout of violent sneezes. The latter scaring Ma's two children as he folded in on himself from the force, and Hajime running out of clean tracksuit top sleeve to wipe her nose on.

* * *

 **Musical Inspiration:**

"IKEMEN Boogie" – Shin Kono, 'Hanzakari no Kimitachi e – Oringal Soundtrack (2007)'


	6. Take a Left

**LATE HERO ACADEMIA**

 **CHAPTER SIX**

 **TAKE A LEFT**

* * *

It was honestly disconcerting, thought Hajime, how quickly and readily Yuuei threw their money around.

No expense, other than Cementoss' apparent exhaustion, had been spared in creating a maze for the Mature Heroics class. Cement lintels and flooring had swiftly been created by the aforementioned Hero, with varied worker drones flooding the arena during the MH student's reprieve carrying a collection of panels. The panels slid easily into place around and inside the skeletal-looking construction of the maze; each uniform square crafted from a different material—some in dark stone, other's a flimsy tinted safety glass, wood, and even dark paper screens. A few of the walls Cementoss even filled in with his Quirk, before creating a roof for the competitors next trial and calling it a success.

To think that most of the detailed construction and crafting that had been paid for (or _expected_ from the faculty, Hajime supposed) would be reduced to rubble very soon. Entrances were spread all around the outside of the maze, with a hidden meeting place and multiple routes with which the class could get to that point. Like the first trial, the class members were expected to fight hard, fast, and dirty, according to Midnight, anyway, and Hajime had intended to slip her way through this trial to the combat trials up until the fact that this was a maze she had to conquer was announced.

That wasn't to say Hajime had an appalling sense of direction, it was just that she had no way of directing herself through a maze that had been designed with Quirk users in mind. They—and Hajime was distinguishing herself aside from 'them', because of her lack of Quirk—had the power to likely blast their way through to wherever the designated safe-area of this maze was. (Hajime was going to hazard a guess that it was in the middle, and with no obvious way out, it was probably some sort of pit that they were all going to fight to the death in for a chance of battling in the next round. She could almost hear Minamoto crying 'Fight me, Itou!' in the distance and shuddered at the thought.)

Once more Hajime stood beside Hiro. The remaining competitors had been spread as evenly as possible around the outskirts of the maze, and yet, somehow, they'd been paired with one another.

"Good luck in there," Hajime whispered close to the teen's ear, trying to be heard over the roar of the crowd and Present Mic. Hiro stuttered out a reply of sorts, but it was lost in the overwhelming screech of klaxon and more cheering.

Hajime jolted, not expecting the noise, and Hiro pushed past her eagerly, entering the depths of the maze first. She followed not long after him, but more sedately. After all, she had no clear way of getting through the maze other than getting lost and then extremely lucky. Even with her kicking strength she doubted she could bust through concrete. Paper? Perhaps. In the limited light the maze had to offer, Hajime didn't fancy breaking her foot against a wall trying to find out whether she could pass through there or not.

Heading straight down the maze's corridor in the echoing wake of Hiro's footsteps, Hajime finally reached the first junction. She was resigned to the fact that she was going to be paying back her debt and decided there and then to just say 'Bugger it all' and throw caution to the wind. Hadn't someone wise once said that when in a maze you should just keep turning left? Or something like that? Well, Hajime was going to find out very soon if that logic was sound.

Meanwhile, across the other side of the maze, Minamoto Sentaro was doing just fine. If your definition of 'fine' meant 'ripping through paper and glass walls with giddy abandon'. Supposedly, only sheer dumb luck had stopped Sentaro from crashing face first into a concrete slab of wall, rather than the wooden panels, shoji screens, and the glass panes he'd walloped through already. The glass was a bit of pain to him, really, and he had several sluggishly bleeding scratches on his arm from where he'd not cleared out of the way of the tumbling shards in time. Never mind that there were other pathways he could bolt down, Sentaro was quite happy to destroy anything in his way recklessly.

Unknown to him, he'd already battered down two unlucky MH Class members in his way. They'd been startled by the shattered glass and wood and taken a heavy load of debris to the face, or they'd inadvertently severely injured themselves trying to leave the fray. (Jumping back and miscalculating how much space one had to move in a dark corridor ultimately led to one hell of headache once the concussion wore off.)

Also breezing his way around the maze was Washi Ofuda. Surrounded discreetly by a barrier he'd erected (having heard the crashes echoing around quickly assuming he would need to be protected at some point), Washi made his way along the passages more cautiously than Minamoto but just as ruthlessly. His Quirk, Talisman, was perfect for this task; tracking and trapping were great uses for the paper amulets he made.

Multiple slips of vaguely human-shaped paper fell from the sleeves of his gym uniform —they would stand to attention in the air, waiting for Washi's instructions before dispersing. These paper charms could act as beacons, warning systems, and in a pinch, weaponry (the paper when thrown with enough force, could gauge and scratch fiercely).

Washi waited, tilting his head to one side as one of the charms he'd released reacted to someone's presence. His fingers twitched in anticipation, and two more paper slips fell from his sleeves into his awaiting palms.

"Shit!" cried Suge as Washi's paper talismans expanded with a faint glow. Ichi and Ni fell useless at her sides, restrained by a paper bind.

"How unfortunate," Washi murmured, smoothing a hand over the bandana covering his hair. He slipped around the corner; his faux contrite expression ramped up to the max as he watched Suge try to contort her way out of the binds. She gave up momentarily only to launch herself feet first at Washi. Unfortunately, he evaded before Suge's feet could land a desperate kick.

Sneering, Washi pulled yet another slip of paper from his sleeve. "Once more can't hurt."

The talisman bound Suge's legs. She hissed and hurled obscenities to the lad, but the jig was up for Suge Yato. She had been eliminated in Round Two.

The threat of elimination, and the consequences for being eliminated, was very motivating for the remaining competitors. Hiro was somehow managing to dither his way around; his Quirk could both help stabilise things _and_ determine stability. This was detrimental in discovering which walls were impassable and which were flimsy.

Hajime was still taking each left turn as they came. She hadn't met a dead end yet.

Souma Souta, the guy with a mild air manipulation Quirk, was (quite literally) breezing his way to the exit of the maze. He simply followed the route of fresh air currents blowing through towards the exit.

Others were not so lucky. Hideaki Kuchigiri had come a cropper against Call-me-Bob. Hideaki's… unique Quirk… which others would argue was entirely pointless, didn't really work so well against someone who could bounce around a whole lot. The point of Hideaki's Quirk, 'Trouser Talk', was to trap and constrain the person he wished to apprehend in their trousers. If they couldn't move their legs because their pants wouldn't let them, or if the fabric constricted enough to cut off the circulation momentarily and cause numbness and tingling in the legs, then the target was easier to take down.

This was unfortunately about as useful as Hideaki got, unless you counted his winning charm. He stood no chance against Call-me-Bob's Bounce Quirk. While there was nothing notably different to Bob's appearance (again, bright blue hair was nothing to be concerned about when you had people with knife blades for hands running around), his body acted like a lump of rubber.

Bob was sprightly, and springy, and most importantly _bouncy_. With him pinging off two concrete sections and the floor of the maze like a glorified bouncy ball, Hideaki couldn't hold Bob in place well enough to constrain the American.

"Looks like you're all talk and no trousers," Bob teased.

"Very funny," Hideaki replied through grit teeth.

One punch to the gut later and Hideaki was down. Bob apologised profusely before moving on, while Hideaki cursed himself for not taking the time to work on moving targets wearing nylon. Slippery fabrics were always more difficult to control than denims, linen, and cotton, you see.

Tsuchiko, Robert's fiancé, was having fun hopping around. To others it seemed like her energy was limitless, but she was just rather excited and bounding around the darkened maze like it was nothing. Bunnies had great night vision, and Tsuchiko Usagi was a great bunny, no matter if people always said her Quirk made her more like a kangaroo than anything else.

She had seethed when she was younger, because kangaroos weren't cute. Bunnies were cute. Tsuchiko was a bunny, and her future husband bounced around like she did. She could only hope once they settled down and got this Hero business over and done with that their little ones would hop around too. A family of dysfunctional rabbits they would be.

Tsuchiko hopped onwards.

Meanwhile, Hajime had come to a dead stop. There were no more left turns, or right turns, or well, any other way to move than back the way she had come. There was only a pit.

"You've got to be joking me," she muttered. She recalled Miwa telling her about some ancient internet thing people would say to each other online. 'Fight me in the pit'? Or something like that.

Was that the next stage of this round? Hajime wondered. Were they being put through their paces only to fight it out in Darkness 2.0.? Surely having them wander through a maze that was poorly lit was enough torture and they didn't need to make the pit darker than dark itself?

The more Hajime thought about it, the more she realised that no, that wasn't enough torture if the rest of Yuuei's faculty were anything like Aizawa.

Peering down into the abyss again, Hajime gulped. The cacophony of walls crashing down, and a few girlish screams, had faded off into the distance once she'd traversed down the hallway of the final left turn she'd taken. There was no one else around that she could push down there first to make sure there was a bottom to the pit, or to ensure that this wasn't a cruel trick; a brand of self-elimination, other than running headfirst into Sentaro Minamoto , that would have been mortifying.

Worrying her lip, Hajime removed her shoes. If the point of this was to take down as many people inside the maze and then make it back to the starting point before time ended, then she'd royally messed this one up. She chucked one shoe over the edge of the pit. It sailed down into the unknown for only a short amount of time before colliding with what lay at the bottom with a soft 'plop'.

Hajime tilted her head to the side in curiosity, as though it would help her strain her ears to hear better. She threw the other shoe down for curiosity's sake. The same soft sound was heard. There was something at the bottom of the pit to stop them from getting hurt.

She scrubbed her hands over her face. Tucked a loose piece of her choppy hair behind her ear only to have it fall out of place again.

Hajime Itou wasn't one for daring acts or pushing herself out of her comfort zone. She turned her back to the pit, hoping her logic and the experiments she had conducted with her shoes would hold true. It would be better this way, if she couldn't see the fall rushing up to meet her. Hajime closed her eyes and fell backwards.

* * *

A claxon rang through the arena and inside the maze. If the competitors listened closely, they would have heard that Hajime Itou had found the exit first and might have smiled. For Sentaro Minamoto, knowing that his rival had beat him to first place was like waving a red rag at a raging bull.

Sentaro gripped at his hair, yanking out a chunk of it from behind his ear. It sharpened in his hand, and he launched, screaming, at the closest wall. It shredded under his blade; yet another misleading paper screen.

For Tsurutsuru Aburo, the shock of Minamoto ripping through a paper wall and coming at him with a blade was too much. He fell back, shrieking, after slipping on his own Quirk, and cracked his head against the wall. Tsurutsuru was out.

So was Minamoto, though he was out for blood.

" _Itou."_

* * *

Hajime took her time rolling away from the middle of a large safety net to the edge. It was the sort of equipment used at circuses to catch performers on the high wire who did not possess balance Quirks. At the time (Miwa had dragged her niece to see the circus while it was town, before slowly giving up on dragging apathetic Hajime anywhere ever again) they had looked imposing, a huge deep black net strung across the ground while acrobats teetered high above. How was that supposed to stop you from getting hurt?

Hajime had landed on her shoes. They dug into her back as the diamond-shape knotting of the net cut into the rest of her body. It hadn't been so bad for the first few minutes, but Hajime could feel her circulation slowly starting to cut off despite feeling weightless for the first time in ages. Reluctantly, she knew she had to move out of the way. Someone would likely find the exit soon and come crashing down onto the net (and her if she didn't shift herself).

Hajime was still a little mystified that her insane plan had _actually_ worked. Take a left, then another left, and another, and one more. She'd essentially just been looping back onto herself for the past ten minutes, and yet somehow, she'd come out on top. That didn't happen for Quirkless nobodies like Hajime Itou.

No sooner had she rolled to safety did the next person drop into the pit. In the dark, Hiro's wobbly grin was like a guiding light.

"We did it," the teen murmured.

"Uh huh," Hajime grunted, slipping her sneakers back on.

Hiro shook his head at her blasé attitude. "You won this round, Hajime."

He looked at her with a newfound respect that Hajime instantly hated. She tapped the toe of her right shoe onto the ground a few times. "It's not a big deal. Just kept turning left."

Hiro looked at her as though he couldn't quite believe what she'd just said; she could see the questions bubbling inside his head, but she just shrugged. "As if I know how that actually worked. I was just hoping I'd get lost before Minamoto could find me."

Speak of the devil—

"Itou!"

Hiro shrieked and flung himself away from the net just in time for Sentaro to land smack dab in the centre where he had been sitting moments before. The ashy-haired teen rolled menacingly towards the two who had qualified before him.

Hajime was riding a little high on her feelings of pride and disbelief, and thus didn't really give much thought to staying alive in the face of the angry teen. "Oh, you made it too, Minamoto? I'm glad."

She smiled. Hiro quivered behind her. Sentaro Minamoto looked like someone had fed him seventy lemons and then poured salt onto his tongue. His lips puckered; little ridges appeared atop the bridge of his nose as Sentaro wrinkled up his face in frustration. If it weren't a raging Minamoto before her and some other immensely peeved person, then Hajime would have admitted that it looked kind of... attractive. Childishly liberating, even. If angry man-children were your pick, she supposed.

Hajime must have really not liked living: "As expected of my rival though."

Hiro whimpered, watching Sentaro's face change colour rapidly—from an angry flush, to pale, pink with praise, then purple with indignation—was a sight to behold. Sentaro's lips pursed then flattened into a severe line.

Remaining quiet for a few moments, Sentaro extricated himself from the safety net. He rubbed the back of his neck distractedly. "Itou, I—"

They were interrupted by Souma Souta and Ma crashing together on their jump down into the pit. The fourth and fifth places into the next round had been secured. Three places remained, and though the competitors inside the maze couldn't really tell, about a minute and a half was left on the clock before this round was brought to a close.

"Were you going to say something?" Hajime asked.

Sentaro gave her an odd look. Sort of appraising, but then again, Hajime was bad enough at interacting with people that she couldn't tell what an 'appraising' glance meant.

He shook his head. "S'nothin."

* * *

"Bobby, we have to stop meeting like this," Tsuchiko giggled, skipping up to her fiancé in the dark. She slid her fingers between his to better grasp his hand.

Call-me-Bob smiled down at the woman. He wiggled his eyebrows. "This reminds me a lot of that escape room we did back in Cali."

Tsuchiko's bubbling laughter echoed through the halls of the maze. She swung her and Bob's joined hands between them.

* * *

Washi Ofuda looked personally offended to have arrived in sixth place. He'd withdrew multiple slips of paper from his sleeves, having them hang aloft in the air to form a staircase. Taking genteel steps down into The Pit™, Washi sneered at the others gathered beside the safety net.

"Who's left out there?" Hiro queried the group. "Hajime said she hadn't run into anyone, and I didn't either."

Sentaro couldn't actually recall how many people he'd crashed into during his mad scramble, only that a few of their classmates were likely to have been caught up in the commotion. He soon lost interest; his attention waned, and Sentaro looked off into the distant darkness with a puzzled expression.

Hajime frowned. Minamoto was acting weird.

Souma and Ma had confirmed that they had not encountered anyone, and it was extremely luck they had done so. Hajime had reluctantly expected to be swamped by other people as soon as she entered the maze, and most certainly hadn't anticipated winning. She was really chuffed about that and instantly checked her enthusiasm. There was no point in getting cocky, because—

A claxon sounded throughout the arena. The trial had come to an end. Only two more rounds, both of which were specifically Quirk and combat orientated, were left, as well as the final battle between the last two students standing.

And Hajime was going to have her arse kicked.

Ofuda swiped a hand dramatically down his face. "I got rid of that _Jakotsu baba_ wannabe not long back. Then again, it wasn't much of a challenge." **[1]**

Ma, who stood a good head and torso taller over his peers, subtly cracked his knuckles. Ofuda's satisfied smirk dimmed.

"Suge's gonna be pissed," said Hajime. Ma nodded in agreement.

One of the support teachers, Hajime presumed given the way Hiro perked up at the sight of a shirtless man in yellow support gear, burrowed down through the earth above them and dropped into the pit. "Time to go," the teacher croaked. "The others have already been rescued."

"Power Loader Sensei?" Hiro wobbled out from behind Hajime. "Do you know who else made it?"

The teacher nodded, but said nothing more. They all took that as a sign that they would be informed of the results and the proceedings for the next round when they reached the surface.

* * *

Suge Yato was in fact, just the teeny weensiest bit pissed off. Just a little bit.

She'd been corned by that jerk, and her buddies had been none too happy to have been restrained, but at least Suge had gone down fighting. If only she could have kicked Ofuda where it hurt most before he'd bound her legs.

Ichi and Ni were spitting furiously at her side, enough to make Hound Dog nervous as he led her, Kuchigiri, and Tsurutsuru to join the rest of their class who'd been knocked out up in the stands.

Hitomi, Komori, Subako, and Nanako were chatting as though they were old pals. Aizawa was sat close by, having re-joined the Class MH students, his head drooping onto his chest. He probably wasn't sleeping, but Suge wasn't going to ruin his fun.

"So, Ofuda's an arsehole," Suge started conversationally, feeling Ichi and Ni tense at the sound of his name.

Nanako cracked a wry grin. "Could have told you that ages ago."

"I don't actually know whether I'm madder at him or at myself."

"Don't be mad at either," Aizawa rasped, rubbing his eyes wearily. "Rage at Itou instead. Of all the dumb luck…" He shook his head and left.

"Hajime?" Now Suge was worried. What had happened?

Subako Fujita was someone Suge had only spoken to a handful of times during classes, but underneath all of the hooded clothing and masks she could feel their smile. "Itou kept on turning left in the maze. Got to the exit first."

"You're joking right?!"

* * *

Hajime stopped her sneeze before it could hit Minamoto in the back of the head. Her cockiness had subsided from earlier, and there was no point in dicing with death again. She'd already used up most of her luck quota for the year.

As it stood, Minamoto had heard her snuffling. He pivoted around so quickly that he ought to have whiplash.

"Listen here, _Itou,_ " he growled, pointing a scarred finger at her chest. Hajime could count several criss-crossing, silvery lines on his tanned skin. "I will defeat you in the next round."

Hajime blinked. She smiled thinly, knowing that her own arse kicking was on the cards. "Sure. You're stronger than I am. Still, I've not been defeated yet."

Minamoto's cheeks puffed out like a petulant child about to chuck a wobbly. "I'm still going to beat you."

"Yeah. You've come so far, and there's not much I can do without a Quirk." Hajime was going to be at a distinct disadvantage in the upcoming round. She thought she was ready for what was to come.

He grumbled under his breath and whipped back around again before striding off to the waiting-come-changing room, rubbing the back of his reddened neck as he went.

Hiro let out a shaky breath beside Hajime. She quirked an eyebrow at the boy. "Calm down. He won't do anything. Minamoto's a bit of a bumpkin, and he's strong, but I don't think he'd intentionally hurt anyone. He's sort of like an overgrown puppy."

"A very sharp and dangerous puppy," Hiro returned, recalling the shards Minamoto could pull out of thin (h)air. He had still to figure out how that worked , because surely Minomoto should be bald by now, right?

"I was going for how dependent he is on positive reinforcement, but that works too."

* * *

"I actually can't believe that Hajime thought that would work," Suge chuckled. She'd liberated her phone from the waiting room lockers and using the voice command feature installed she'd managed to ring Miwa. The rest of the knocked-out competitors were listening as closely as possible while trying to be nonchalant about eavesdropping.

"Knowing my niece, she probably didn't. It was fool's luck."

"She's doing really well though." Suge heard Masaki's muffled voice in the background. "But I wish she hadn't painted a target on her back."

While the competitors were in the dark (quite literally), the audience had been able to see what had happening inside the maze thanks to infrared cameras positioned in each individual hallway. The play by play action of Hajime wandering down every left turn, Minamoto crashing through walls and scaring Tsurutsuru half to death, and Suge's own confrontation with Ofuda had been captured in high definition and played around the arena on huge drop-down screens. A claxon had sounded whenever someone jumped down into the pit, but at that point the crowds already knew who had triumphed.

Suge frowned. "What do you mean?"

"That silver-haired kid didn't look so happy to see Hajime," Miwa explained. "Masaki's worrying up a storm." Muted cries and denials were hurled through the speaker. "Is he someone she should worry about?"

"Huh? Minamoto?" Miwa confirmed that yes, the 'silver-haired kid' was Sentaro Minamoto. "Nah. He's harmless. Minamoto's Hajime's 'Rival', y'know. It's all in the competitive spirit. Who's Masaki?"

"You might know him as Manual," said Miwa, and the collective group in the stands around her gaped a little. Aizawa startled from his doze; Suge saw his eyes narrow.

Hajime Itou had a Pro worrying about her; Hajime Itou had _invited_ a Pro to watch this shit show like he was family. And they looked nothing alike, so to the collective that must have meant…

Suge strained her ears; there was too much excited mumbling going on to listen in on the gossip closely. It sounded very much like Masaki was whining like a wounded animal on the other end of the phone.

"Why does she have a rival?" he groaned.

"Dunno. Minamoto's a bit cracked, but he's harmless, I swear." At least, Suge hoped he was.

All was quiet on the phone. Then:

"Hajime's going to have her arse kicked, isn't she?" Miwa said quietly.

"Er…" Suge's shoulders dropped. "Probably," she whispered back into the phone.

* * *

The remaining competitors going into the third round were given a half hour break. Two trials back to back had been a hassle to set up so quickly, and though while not as grandiose as the regular Yuuei Sports Festival games, it had been a stretch to set up two functional trials consequently. A little time would have to be taken between these first two trials and the one-v-one battles that were happening next to fix up the ground, demolish the maze, and then place down a concrete plinth for the MH students to duke it out on.

This short break allowed the Yuuei kids in the stands to run for comfort breaks and snacks, and if they weren't already doing so, gave them a chance to upload proceedings onto their respective social media accounts. Yes, this event was being shown around the country, but only the Yuuei attendees, the MH class' guests, and the teachers were actually present on the grounds. No strangers, no civilians, and especially no Heroes present other than those who needed to be—or in the case of Manual, those who were invited and off duty.

Hajime had managed to hold in her sneeze for roughly five minutes after exiting the maze, but something had to give eventually. For lack of a tissue, she had to wipe her nose against her tracksuit.

Across the waiting room, sat taking genteel sips from a bottle of iced tea, Washi gagged. "That is _disgusting_. How uncouth are you?"

Hajime shrugged, as if to say, 'I'm beyond help.'

Prim though Ofuda Washi might be, he was right. The silvery, slick sheen to the right sleeve of Hajime's tracksuit top was very noticeable.

"Ugh, does anyone have a spare t-shirt on them or something?" she asked eventually, noting the other competitors staring at her with equally worry or muted disgust.

Tsuchiko piped up that she did, because she was wearing a camisole under her top, but it would likely be too small to fit over Hajime's ample assets. The others had come to the sports festival dressed in their best and had no other items of clothing for Hajime to snaffle.

A quick, wheedling, trip to visit Aizawa in the stands later (and wasn't that a task, trying to coax him from his not-nap and into finding her some spare clothes to wear? And why were the other MH students staring at her?), and Hajime was fairly certain that this endeavour was not worth the hassle. She should have walked out onto live TV with her snotty right shoulder proudly displayed because Aizawa had one (1) female friend and colleague available to him at that moment, and her name was Midnight.

Hiding the snotty sleeve by rolling down her jumpsuit and tying it tightly at her waist was easy. Hiding the slogan 'Mega Milk' on the baseball-style tee Hajime had been loaned from Midnight was not such an easy task.

"Oh dear," Tsuchiko murmured as she clocked Hajime's change of clothing. "I should have leant you the camisole."

Hajime rolled her eyes. "It's Midnight's. I was hoping my hair would cover it, but then I remembered that I hated wearing my hair long and hacked it all off years ago." She fingered the hem of the shirt with a grimace. "It's not that bad."

Certainly, while it was a euphemistic article of clothing (with a fairly outdated internet reference, oh, maybe a century or so outdated), at least Hajime was covered and mostly snot-free.

A few sniggers from Call-me-Bob and Hiro had Hajime rolling her eyes again.

"I had no idea that Midnight-Sensei was into dairy farming?" Minamoto said, cocking his head to the side.

"Please," Hajime murmured. "Please just _don't."_

"But I—"

"I believe," Souma interjected, and wow, while Hajime had heard him speak before now, she'd never really got the chance to _listen_ before. His voice was deep. It was nice. "That the 'milk' refers to…" he coughed. "Not cows."

Minamoto looked like he wanted to say something. Thankfully, he did not. Hajime couldn't help herself, however. "How come you've never spoken out before?" she asked Souma.

He lifted a stocky shoulder. "I've not really had a lot to say."

Ofuda sneered. Souma bristled. "And now you're suddenly so loquacious?"

Hajime was acutely aware now, with the sudden flash of tension in the room, of how few women were present in the room compared to when the festival had begun. Hajime was surrounded by Hiro, Souma, and Minamoto (currently devouring half a sandwich). Across from her were Call-me-Bob and Tsuchiko—Tsuchiko was contently tucked up beside Call-me-Bob, an arm loosely wrapped about his waist—and to the corners of the room were Ma and Ofuda.

Ma was her friend, or so Hajime thought, but they were strong. Ma could easily win this competition if they put their mind to it, but they also had other responsibilities. Small children tested one's ability to set selfishness aside. Aggravated or given enough motivation, Ma could trounce them all. Tsuchiko and her kangaroo-like ('Bunny!' she would protest) Quirk, and more importantly, Hajime's Quirklessness, would make them both easy targets in one-on-one fights. They could easily be overpowered by someone with a stronger Quirk, or better yet, a Quirk at all.

Hajime knew though that Ma wasn't the type of person to fly off the handle. Should she have to face them, Hajime knew Ma would try to even out their battle. Ma would win in the end.

The remaining people in the room were dangerous.

Hajime had known she'd be in deep shit whether she bowed out and had debt looming over her or if she had to face her peers in combat—her peers who were significantly stronger than herself—but the true weight of that knowledge had just settled in her stomach like a heavy, heavy rock.

Ten minutes remained until the final stage began. If Hajime could make it through the next two fights and put herself in the Final Round, the fight for debt-free living and the top of the podium, then… well, Hajime didn't know what would follow next. She eyed her competition warily.

Minamoto, rubbing his tongue over his teeth, snatched a single strand of choppy hair away from his fringe. The strand solidified; metallic like a needle, and just as sharp. He scraped at the gap between his two front teeth, fishing for a piece of food that was stuck there, unconcerned about using his Quirk for something so mundane.

Hajime stared in horror. Bile rushed into her throat. Toothpicks. Minamoto could turn his hair into metallic toothpicks. _Needles_. Small pieces of his hair transformed into _needles_. What would he be able to do with full hanks? Was he able to use other people's hair? She had significantly longer, if just as badly trimmed, hair. What if he ripped out a piece of her hair when (and it was 'when' and not 'if', Hajime knew, because she had terrible luck) they fought.

This was bad. So bad. Dangerous. Bad bad bad bad bad. Hajime was rivals with **d** **anger** incarnate. If she somehow bullied her way through to the final round he'd also find a way to be there. Needles would be there. Not good, not good.

Hajime breathed through her nose heavily. She stood suddenly, racing for the door. "I think I'm going to be sick-"

* * *

 **[1]** The _Jakotsu baba_ , lit. 'snake bones hag', is known in Japanese Mythology as an old shaman hag with the power to control snakes. Washi's being mean and playing off this mythological idea to taunt the other's about Suge.

* * *

 **A/N [13/11/2019] :**

Hey! Long time no update, right?

Believe it or not, this Chapter has been waiting to be published since April 2019. Life... really got in the way with me updating. The good news is that I've completed an MA in the last year, and I'm set to graduate soon.

Let me know what you think of this Chapter. There was no Beta for this one, so point out any mistakes for me, please! Also, would a Chapter dedicated to the profiles of the MH Class Students help? There's a lot of OCs with lots of Quirks in this fic, and I get confused myself.

Anyway, thanks for reading, and thank you for your patience!

-Yuilhan

* * *

 **Musical Inspiration:**

"Ma Baker" – Boney M, 'The Essential Boney M.'

"Talk" – Two Door Cinema Club, 'Talk'

"99 Problems" – Hugo, 'Old Tyme Religion'


	7. Round One

**LATE HERO ACADEMIA**

 **CHAPTER SEVEN**

 **ROUND ONE**

* * *

Itou was weirdly aloof on the best of days, but her sudden departure from where she had been sat somewhat peacefully in the waiting room worried the others a little.

She just had an unflappable aura about her. For someone who was, at best, considered to be sub-par in society, Hajime Itou had just enough energy left to not care about those who'd always look down on her. At least, that was what the likes of the MH Class believed.

In truth, Hajime was the still the broken-hearted little girl who had been dumped at Miwa's doorstep. When the testing came back conclusive and confirmed her mother's gnawing suspicions, Hajime had ceased to exist in their once happy little family. Then Miwa took her in, breathed the life back into her that had been sucked dry from the hospitals, and the screaming matches, and the empty, desolate feeling of her father's hand slipping from her own as her mother turned her back to Hajime's tears and they drove off—

Hajime had, at least, made it to a bin before the roiling of her stomach couldn't be contained. It was a far cry from the privacy of the toilets though. She heaved desperately, and almost like magic, the sodden half-digested remains of rice crackers and a decent swill of water reappeared. For her next trick, Hajime would school her rising terror into something akin to apathy.

She wiped her mouth angrily, hating the way her tongue felt sticky and sharp with bile.

How was Hajime going to do this? If she faced Minamoto, she'd have to face the needles again. It hadn't mattered so much back when her ribs were broken; she'd been high as a kite on a combination of the good drugs and a minty-feeling healing Quirk, and by the time she'd come to, the needles had all vanished and she was being released.

At that time, Hajime hadn't thought any more about it. Through the lingering pain, Manual, the ridiculous number of flowers the former left behind with each visit to her bedside, and Miwa deciding that her invalid niece should learn how to kick ass and get her arse kicked, Hajime had believed that perhaps she was moving forward. That maybe, just maybe, she could forget the past or be better despite it.

But seeing Sentaro Minamoto's Quirk in action had brought it all rushing back, and Hajime couldn't describe how she felt in words. All she knew was that she had to get away, and before she realised what she was doing she was out of the door and vomiting. It was animalistic, almost. Instinctual.

Back in the waiting room, the aforementioned person (with a Quirk-that-should-be-avoided-at-all-costs) jumped to his feet. "Itou's been gone a long time."

In truth, it had only been a few minutes.

"T-that tends to happen, if you're ill," Hiro stammered, flinching as Minamoto turned his flinty gaze upon him.

Tsuchiko hummed. "The bathrooms aren't very close either."

Minamoto stomped his foot. "Well, she needs'ta hurry up—I'm fightin' her if it's the last thing I do!"

"We don't know who we're matched with yet," Washi sneered. "How do you know that you won't be pitted against someone else, and thoroughly trounced? Itou too, for that matter. We all know that she isn't going to make it any further."

When Minamoto's lips curled back into a snarl, Hiro physically recoiled; dithering into the bench he was sat on and wishing to become one with the wooden slats beneath his bottom. "Whadd'ya mean by that!?"

Souma Souta, who had been characteristically mute up until the conclusion of the second trial, spoke up next. "You know what it means. Itou's Quirkless. She's at a natural disadvantage. Honestly, it's a wonder she's even made it this far."

"Shear dumb luck," Ofuda chimed in smugly.

Call-me-Bob wrapped his arm tighter around Tsuchiko, who nodded along with Souma's statement, adding; "She's done so well, and while not everyone here has a powerful Quirk, we still have Quirks. I wouldn't be mad if she forfeited before her match began."

"What's Quirks got to do with it?" Minamoto growled.

Washi Ofuda could be quite the dramatist. Most of the MH Class were thoroughly convinced of his theatrical side, as no one could be so continuously cold and aloof. No one. When he laughed, bitter and dry, his peers in that room were visibly surprised.

"Did you sleep through all of your history lessons? Quirks are _everything_ in this world."

Sentaro sized Washi up with dangerously narrowed eyes. "You're scared of what she can do."

"I'm not, and never will be intimidated by the likes of her kind."

"'her kind'?" Hiro whispered.

Yes, Hajime was abrasive at times (Hiro could recall how she'd snapped at him like it was yesterday) but he didn't think any less of her for it. She was Quirkless. She was unique. Compared to people who had pretty useless Quirks, like oddly coloured hair or debilitating mutations, Hajime's normality (or singularity?) was like a breath of fresh air. She was so normal it made her even more noticeable —all without a Quirk.

"Back me up here-" Minamoto barked, and Hiro flinched. "Itou's worthy of bein' _my_ rival, so she's strong, right?" Hiro unintelligibly muttered in agreement.

Ofuda could not be swayed, however. "At the Temple I was raised at, the elders have a belief that those who are born with useless Quirks, or, the Spirits forbid, even without a Quirk, are being punished for their sins in the last life. Obviously Itou was a person of ill-repute-"

Minamoto had grabbed Ofuda by the collar of his tracksuit top quicker than anyone in the room could react. "You wanna say that again, or _to_ _her_?"

Bandages.

Bandages everywhere.

Wrapping around Ofuda and Minamoto, yanking them apart and binding them into place.

"…enough…" Ma rasped.

A klaxon sounded. Their ten minutes were up. The hand-to-hand combat portion of the Sports Festival was about to begin.

* * *

"Hey. Heeeeey, Ssssensssei?" Suge crooned. Aizawa glared at her dispassionately.

"What, Yato?"

"Some broccoli-looking kid has been trying to catch your attention for, like, ten minutes straight."

One of Aizawa's eyebrows rose slowly. Very slowly. "Bold of you to assume I didn't already know that."

Ichi and Ni stirred mischievously at Suge's sides. From her first day in the MH Class, right back to when they were introducing themselves, Suge knew there was a reason why she liked Aizawa. He was quiet, and confident. Quietly confident, like a coiled snake waiting in the long grass. He knew perfectly well how to make himself unassuming; all the easier for his target to trip right over him—to tumble into his tightly cast but neatly disguised net.

Aizawa groaned, and Suge's elongated canines popped out of her mouth as she grinned. "What do you want, Midoriya?" the teacher called across the stands to the seating section parallel to the MH Class'.

"Is it true?" the broccoli-looking, green-haired child ('Midoriya', Suge corrected) blurted. Aizawa waited for his student to elaborate. Quite a few of his other younger students were drawn in by the reckless teen's outburst. "Is it true that there's a Quirkless person in your Mature Heroics class?!"

The subtle dip of Aizawa's chin set Izuku Midoriya's lips quivering. Fat tears threatening to fall from his eyes. Aizawa mentally groaned. Trust Midoriya to be worked up about Quirk-rights.

"Wait-" That aggressive timbre could only belong to Katsuki Bakugou, and Aizawa only just refrained from pinching his nose and sighing. "One of them is Quirkless?"

"Hell yeah she is," Suge hollered. "Itou's badass."

"Itou…" Midoriya murmured. "Where have I? Wait! Shoto, Iida, wasn't that the name of the, _uh_ , um-"

"Something you'd like to share with the rest of the class, Midoriya," Aizawa drawled, knowing that Izuku had narrowly avoided putting his foot into his mouth (yet again).

While his classmates were likely bright enough to piece together multiple bits of fragmented information, they weren't exactly supposed to know the ins-and-outs of the Stain case. Itou's involvement and the subsequent hush-money 'generously gifted' by Endeavour to cover her medical bills (and to ensure her silence over the three teenage troublemakers) had put a momentary spanner in the works. It was an easily concealed mishap though. One that didn't need airing.

Aizawa was both vexed and simultaneously floored over Midoriya's mental recollection. An incident from months ago that left a civilian heavily injured, but which was near spotlessly removed from all media attention, would have been difficult for anyone else to remember.

Not for Izuku Midoriya it would seem.

"Wait." Aizawa wanted to bash his head against something. Like a wall, or Cementoss, or even a pillow so he could scream out his frustrations and then hopefully nap afterwards. Suge Yato, the prime gossip of the MH Class, just couldn't keep her button-nose out of anything. "Do you mean that huge bust-up with Stain a few months back? Yeah, Hajime had most of her ribs broken in that shitshow."

"She did?" Iida questioned quietly. Aizawa believed the contrite expression on the boy's face meant that he was directing guilt (over irrationally trying to eradicate his brother's murderer and subsequently landing in a whole heap of trouble, as well as breaking Itou) at himself.

"Uh-huh. Like I said, Hajime's cool; ended up in the MH Class shortly after she was released from hospital."

Bakugou frowned. "But she's Quirkless."

Aizawa could feel his eliminated MH students bristling at the blond boy's tone. It was nice to see them banding together to defend one of their own, even though before this Sports Festival sham had started, they were fighting like cats in an alley to avoid a non-existent monetary threat.

Ichi and Ni hissed menacingly, dripping flecks of venom as Suge put the boy back into his place. "So? I can't tie lace-up shoes. Does that make me any less of a person? Itou's strong. Strong enough to do this even though she's up against nutters like Minamoto. Strong enough to win a challenge without assistance. Don't take her accomplishments away from her just because she doesn't fit the mould."

"Yeah, well, what can she do against 'nutters' then?" muttered Katsuki.

"Anything she's actually motivated to do, Itou will succeed in," Aizawa complemented. "She has fastidious luck. She's cautious, but she's creative. A lifetime of not being automatically allowed your own way means that you are forced to be adaptive. It is a trait that some people should take the time to incorporate into their own lifestyle."

The floodgates had officially opened. Midoriya was weeping. Ochako Uraraka placed a hand gently on the boy's shoulder as his body shook with sobs. He eventually shrugged her off, swiping away the tears maniacally.

"I'm- I'm so happy," Izuku grinned. "I'm happy she's here. It means a lot."

"Jeez kid," Suge drawled, feeling a lump rise in her throat. "I think she'd be happy to hear that."

Suge didn't _get_ _it,_ though. She couldn't, not fully. Midoriya knew what it was like to grow up Quirkless. Heck, Bakugou knew what it was like to be friends with Quirkless people… and what it was like to torment them for their nature.

While Midoriya was proud to carry on All Might's legacy, to inherit One For All, there was a feeble part of himself that rationalised that maybe he should have given it his Quirkless all before succumbing to the quick temptation of an inheritance.

Perhaps, if he had listened to that broken and longing fragment of himself, Izuku himself wouldn't be so broken. Bruising was temporary, and the ache of muscles working overtime to keep up with your stronger peers would eventually fade. Permanent scars and irreversible bone and muscle damage due to your arms almost blowing off every time you used your Quirk was terrifying. And irrevocable.

Hajime Itou's presence at the MH Sports Festival and her place in the MH Class validated Quirkless people across the globe. They finally had meaning—finally had a platform to fight and be recognised on. They were on equal footing with the Quirked-privileged. Hajime Itou meant that, although Izuku might not be part of the minority anymore, not jumping off the roof in Middle School was the right decision for him after all.

Quirkless didn't mean helpless. Quirklessness made you a wild card.

Izuku was happy. Even if he couldn't prove that point any longer, Hajime Itou certainly could. Izuku hoped she had the nerve to take this fight all the way with her to the top.

Aizawa narrowed his eyes at the green-haired teen. Midoriya was thinking up a storm; you could practically hear the cogs in his head whirring. He knew that Midoriya had issues with Quirks and bullying—having your Quirk not present itself until you were facing down a giant killer robot was life changing—but his abject weeping over Itou (and how her presence in Azawa's MH Class would likely have major social and political ramifications) would surely not be worthwhile when the boy realised just how apathetic Hajime Itou could be.

Whatever emotional stupor both classes were trapped within subsided as a sharp klaxon echoed around the arena. Out onto the field wandered the eight remaining competitors: Bob, Tsuchiko, Soma, Washi, Sentaro, Hiro, Ma, and Hajime.

"What the hell is Hajime wearing!" Suge cackled. As though she'd heard her, Hajime reflexively crossed her arms over her chest.

This time, Aizawa did groan. "I knew I shouldn't have sent her to Midnight."

* * *

Hajime wasn't feeling too hot. Her shirt wasn't helping this case, but she was more worried about staying as far away from Sentaro Minamoto as possible.

Her lips felt a strange sort of sticky; both acrid and coarse like sand, but strangely moist as she licked nervously at chapped sections of skin. She ran her tongue over her gritty teeth and instantly regretted it. Wrapped her arms around her waist nervously, but then realised it pushed her breasts higher up her chest. Fidgeted from foot to foot.

She made awkward eye contact with Minamoto and couldn't help her involuntary shudder. Minamoto frowned.

"It's finally heeeeeere!" The overhead announcement Present Mic bellowed out reverberated around the arena. Hajime could feel the boosted bass of the speakers (or was it just Mic's Quirk?) rattling through her bones. "Time for Round Three!"

Midnight purred, and the sound sent a different kind of shudder through Hajime. "Time for our competitors to take a pummelling. We want to see them up close and personal now—but will they have enough stamina left in the tank for a spectacular… performance?"

"I don't know about you, Midnight, but I don't think I'd like to be on that field myself. Quite a few of our Mature Heroics students are in peak physical form," Mic agreed, his voice finally a little softer. Still screechy, but softer on the ears than his earlier shrieks.

"Oh darling, I totally disagree. I wouldn't mind stepping into harm's way—" Midnight was cut off as Present Mic coughed and sputtered. She giggled. "Well, there's always _later._ For now, earlier we input each competitor's name into a randomised generator; here are the match ups for this round!"

Hajime didn't know whether she was relieved or thoroughly horrified. It was bad enough that she had made it this far—debt be damned—but now she was going to be thoroughly trounced. On a nation-wide scale too. Her first match wasn't the fated battle shad had predicted between Minamoto and herself, though she wasn't entirely reassured that she would be leaving the ring unharmed.

While leaving the ring unharmed wasn't entirely on the cards and backing down before her match began would mean Miwa would probably lose her business, Hajime wasn't sure how she was going to face Call-me-Bob in hand to hand combat. He could bounce around quicker than she could process.

It wasn't looking great for Hiro either. He was up against Minamoto. Hajime, an unreligious person, silently prayed for his soul.

Ma and Ofuda would face each other next; they were fairly evenly matched. Tsuchiko and Soma's battle could tip either way, but the former's wedding plans might be put on hold if she had to face her fiancé (read: beat the ever-loving stuffing out of him with her kangaroo kicks). Bruises and multiple fractures weren't ideal on perfect wedding photos unless you were into that kind of thing, or you were looking for something to tell your grandchildren about if choreographed couple dances weren't your cup of tea.

"Well, then," Midnight continued. "Here to referee our next trial, is our favourite flubber man, Ectoplasm!"

Appearing somewhat out of thin air (though it could have been through a pre-dug passageway thanks to Power Loader), Ectoplasm stood proudly on a raised platform adjacent to the concrete plinth the competitors were huddle upon. From that vantage point he would be close enough to intervene during the battles or to call the winner, but still be far enough away to not be caught in the crossfire.

"I won't ask for a good, clean fight," rumbled Ectoplasm. "Only that you crush your opponent. Give each battle your all; we want to see your conviction."

Hajime swallowed audibly.

"Minamoto, Tanaka, you're up. The rest of you get off the field."

* * *

"Is it just me," Suge said, brow pinched, "Or does Hajime look like she wants to hurl?"

Midoriya had wangled his way over the concrete barrier between seating sections and had plonked himself between Suge and Aizawa. He curled into her side, petting Ichi and Ni with gentle hands and asking rapid-fire questions about her Quirk.

Suge's sharp canines bit into her lower lip. The MH students still left in the competition, and not currently on the field, would be walking up to the stands to sit with their peers. Suge could always ask if Hajime was okay then, but something told her (call it her 'snake-y sense') that there was something she'd _missed._ "Should I phone Miwa?"

"I wouldn't worry too much," Aizawa snorted. Honestly, since Midoriya had imposed himself Suge had thought the teacher had been asleep.

"I- I'd be worried," Midoriya lisped. "If I was, you- y'know, in her situation?"

The 'Quirkless and about to get her arse kicked seven ways to Sunday' went unsaid.

"Yeahhh, I'm phoning Miwa."

Thank technology for voice-assisted devices. Half a minute later, and Suge had put Miwa and Masaki on speakerphone. The rest of the MH class were going to eavesdrop anyway, so they might as well be included in the conversation.

 _"Is my niece being a pain?"_ ('Always,' Aizawa muttered.)

"Hajime isn't here at the moment, but we're a bit worried. She looks like she's going to throw up."

Miwa fell silent at the other end of the call. Then, _"The only time I've ever seen her like that, outside of obligatory stomach bugs through the years, is when there's needles involved. She's not deathly afraid, like, she won't pass out or anything, but it brings back a lot of bad memories from when she was little."_

Midoriya's mouth popped open in recognition. "The… blood tests."

Suge detected a tang of humour in Miwa's tone. _"Hi small child I do not know, by 'blood tests' I presume the copious ones doctors inflict on suspected Quirkless children?"_

Midoriya gulped.

"Wait-" said Hideaki, who'd been lifting his shirt and admiring the blossoming bruise on his stomach intermittently, while feigning that he wasn't eavesdropping, "they test children for that?"

" _Oh yeah,"_ came Miwa's grainy voice through Suge's phone _. "They get pretty in-depth if you're willing to pay. Hajime had regular bloods taken since she turned four until my sister-"_ (Miwa hissed the last word) _"-left her with me at age five. I recall her having to have a pretty big needle in her back once after they took her to a 'specialist' when bloods and x-rays came back inconclusive."_

Hideaki looked horrified, as did many of the other MH students. Izuku's skin was ashen; he knew that there were multiple tests that could be run to determine whether a child would healthily develop their Quirk after the age of four, but he never expected the desperate lengths parents went to just to avoid their child being stigmatised.

X-rays taken of the foot were the most common, as despite how expensive the procedure appeared, it was the quickest method of diagnosis. Extensive bloods, and after Miwa had confirmed it, marrow testing, weren't your run-of-the-mill procedures for Quirks (unless there was a secondary threat causing illnesses, which required an examination of the blood and cells). The expense racked up over a year of intense testing—testing which included those not traditionally applied for Quirk-diagnosis—would have been immense for Itou's family.

Inko Midoriya had, of course, been distraught when her son was diagnosed Quirkless (only to miraculously develop powers alien to hers or Hisashi's when he turned fifteen), but she had accepted that life minus a Quirk was how Izuku was going to have to live—and she was determined that he make the best of his life.

Hajime Itou's parents had caved to their shame.

 _"My sister tried everything, because she didn't want a Quirkless child. And when it turned out she did, she decided not to care about Hajime anymore and left her with me. You should have seen the state of her; I could hardly get her into the doctor's surgery for inoculations when she was younger. Even the dentist unsettles her."_

"Minamoto!" Tsurutsuru exclaimed, snapping his fingers and sending a fine mist of grease into the air. "He yanks out his hair and it transforms into metal blades."

 _"That'd do it,"_ Miwa confirmed. _"Masaki, are you_ ** _crying?"_**

Suge hummed despondently, though her lips quirked at Hajime's Pro Hero in tears over the young woman's past. Hajime was going to be swept off her feet soon if Masaki found his courage. "So, she must have seen him do that sometime between the last trial and now, then freaked out. Why didn't she say was afraid of needles?"

 _"It's not a phobia,"_ explained Miwa. _"If she has to, like back in the summer, she will be injected and poked and prodded. But it's a last resort. She was out of her mind in pain when he ribs were broken, so the Doctors could pretty much sedate her intravenously without hassle. If she were conscious there'd be an issue; she's not afraid, but wary."_

"She doesn't have a crippling fear of them," Aizawa rasped, surprisingly still awake. "Just fearful of the memories _associated_ with needles and then feels like she has to protect herself. Interesting."

 _"I guess you could –"_

Miwa was cut off abruptly as Suge ended the call; jabbing at the screen with her nose. The MH students waiting to compete had arrived at the stands.

"Hey," Suge said softly to Hajime. "You okay?"

Hajime snorted, wrapping her arms around her torso and trying to ignore the obvious pitying looks and side-eyes the eliminated MH students were sending her way. She sat beside Suge, Ma following suit shortly after her. "Peachy keen."

"'sup, broccoli-head?" Hajime blustered. Her apathetic bravado was strained around the edges; the neutral-yet-dismissive downwards tug of her mouth tense. However, if Hajime had a problem, she didn't want to deal with it yet.

She tended to internalise things, Suge realised. Just like she had with announcing she was Quirkless to the rest of the class and receiving the reaction that she did. But if Hajime wanted to joke around about how Midoriya was gaping at her like she'd hung the stars in the sky, then Suge wasn't going to rain on Hajime Itou's parade.

"Me n' Midoriya are best buds for 'evs. We're, like, the co-founders of the Hajime Itou fan club. Ichi and Ni are acting as my cheerleader pom-poms."

"Huh. Neat."

Midoriya continued to gape.

* * *

Down on the court, Hiro Tanaka was shaking up a storm. Somehow, his jittering was worse than usual. For someone with such a _stable_ Quirk, Hiro was the complete opposite. Though he did have a good reason for the jelly-like quivering of his legs this time.

Sentaro Minamoto was terrifying. Actual pants-wetting levels of terrifying, to the point where Hiro had bypassed embarrassing himself only to become tongue tied with fear.

"Before we begin," said Ectoplasm, "would either of you like to withdraw?"

"Hell naw," Minamoto spat.

Hiro managed to weakly shake his head.

Even if Minamoto was scary, that didn't mean he would win. Hiro could pull this one out of the bag if he was careful—and he was plenty careful. He shared a workspace nearly every day with a loose canon called Mei Hatsume. If Hiro could stop her from blowing eighty five percent of Yuuei's campus sky high with her latest 'Baby', then he could do his best to take Sentaro Minamoto down.

"Fine. Begin!"

The crowd roared suddenly but just as quickly the sound bled away, seconded by the blood thrumming through Hiro's ears as his breathing picked up and his limb-shaking grew more intense.

Minamoto stalked forward with a maniacal grin on his face. He clutched at several short strands of hair, tugging them from his head. Hiro watched nervously as they solidified between Minamoto's fingers like bizarre throwing knives.

"S'been nice battling with you so far, Tanaka, but I'm afraid I'll be going through. Keep still and you won't lose anythin' vital; I'll likely just pin you into place before I knock you out."

With that, Minamoto flung one of his impromptu knives. Hiro lurched to the side just in time for it to skim past his ankle, tearing at the fabric of his regulation MH tracksuit bottoms.

If things did get more… stab-y, then at least the red fabric would hide most of the bloodshed, Hiro mused morbidly.

"Stay still," Minamoto growled out, throwing another two knives that Hiro quickly evaded; using his Quirk to keep himself balanced as he flung himself ungracefully through the air.

One landing jarred his ankle something fierce. Pain must have lanced across his expression, because Minamoto chuckled. A fearful shiver streaked down Hiro's spine.

"If that's the way you want t' play, then avoid these!"

Minamoto raised both of his hands level to the side of his head, releasing two knives which flew at Hiro's sides. He couldn't dive out of the way to the side, nor did the teen fancy rolling forwards or backwards (therein taking his eyes off of Minamoto and not being to determine where the next blade would come from). Minamoto still had three knives left, and it would be dangerous for Hiro to take his eye off the ball. So, Hiro stood still.

That was his mistake.

A third knife, thrown successively after the last two at Hiro's head, had Hiro flinging himself backwards. His Quirk activated, locking his feet and lower legs into a stable position, while the rest of Hiro's body crumpled backwards like he was participating in a limbo competition.

Two quick 'thunk's could be heard. Hiro's ankles, locked into place firstly by his Quirk, were now pinned by the hem of his pants with Minamoto's knives.

Hiro began to panic, scrabbling to take the blades away before Minamoto could get close to him, but the metallic substance Minamoto's hair morphed into was sharp and cut at his soft hands. It was also buried deep into the hard ground, and a distracted, scientific part of Hiro wondered just _what exactly_ Minamoto's hair turned into once he broke bits off.

Minamoto stepped closer. "Sorry, but I've gotta fight Itou and knock some sense into her. An' I've gotta make my Gramps proud."

A punch to the temple later, and Hiro was out cold on the concrete.

* * *

Hajime's mouth felt full of spit. The vomit taste from earlier had gone away a little, but her mouth felt wet and gross.

Throughout Hiro's match she had stared at her hands, down in her lap. Suge and Midoriya would crow enthusiastically whenever Hiro did something, but Hajime knew that he would likely only be evading Minamoto.

Hajime pressed her lips together into a thin line. That would also be all she could do too, if, of course, she could stop herself from vomiting at the sight of any needles Minamoto produced.

Below where the MH class sat in the stands, Ectoplasm called for Ofuda and Ma to take their places in the arena. Minamoto had stormed off shortly after his win, leaving Hiro passed out on the ground for Yuuei's helper drones to scoop up and escort to the infirmary.

While Hiro's injuries were minimal—including a sluggishly bleeding cut on his left leg, and a nice duck egg forming on his head—it would be best for him to be checked over by Recovery Girl, and to wake up in a calming space. Better safe than sorry and lashing out in a panic.

Ofuda rose from the seats with a flourish as his name was called out by Ectoplasm. He brushed past Ma with a sneer. Ma payed him no mind, as they were far too focused on Suge's attempts to draw Hajime out of her distracted state.

"Hiro did really well, right Mido?" Suge had only met the boy half an hour ago, but Midoriya was becoming a close ally. Anyone who could see Hajime's true worth was good people in Suge, Ichi, and Ni's books. (Though her two hand-snakes were easily bought with head scratches).

Ma reluctantly stood, following after Ofuda to the arena. Ectoplasm waited on them almost impatiently.

"Glad to see you could make it," the Pro Hero drawled. "Any forfeits?"

"After what he did to Minamoto and myself," Ofuda replied tartly, "I see no problem with beating him up for the humiliation—honestly? _Bandages_?"

"They," Ma interjected.

Ofuda's face contorted in confusion. "What? You can actually talk then."

" _They_ ," repeated Ma. "I go by the pronouns 'they' and 'them'. Or you can call me 'Ma'."

Ectoplasm swished his long coat around his specialised prosthetics. "As fascinating as this little pissing contest is, Washi Ofuda, Ma Hotai, begin!"

"With pleasure," Ofuda scoffed.

Ofuda's movements were very fluid. He was tall and flexible; his hands, especially, were dextrous. Imagine a magician showing off their sleight of hand, imagine the way their deck of cards are shuffled or hopped about just quick enough to distract an audience before the impossible is seemingly achieved. Only, this wasn't a card trick. This was Washi facing off against the MH class' dark horse.

Everyone was a little afraid of Ma Hotai. Secretly strong, and wickedly quick, Ma had been able to disable and separate Washi and Sentaro in the waiting-come-changing room earlier before anyone else could react. The bandages Ma wielded must have had a high tensile strength, as Washi knew that if Sentaro Minamoto wanted to fight then nothing would hold the younger man back.

Ofuda settled into a steady stance. Rolling his wrists and flexing his fingers, he prompted a flurry of paper talismans to flutter out from the sleeves of his tracksuit top.

As a young child, Washi Ofuda had been enraptured by the elders living at the temple near his home. They were disciplined. Precise. Devoted. Ofuda was some of those things, but he was very prideful; he admired the skill his Quirk bestowed upon him, quickly learning under the monks how to discipline himself.

He never did fully devote himself to their teachings, however. Which is why Washi ended up in the MH class. The elders had told him he had no vocation in their ranks, despite taking on board their teachings and discipline. Ofuda was thankful. His hair was a lovely shade of powdered blue, and wouldn't it be awful to shave it all back off (like he had when the elders took him under their wing), because it was just brushing his shoulders in a tamely tousled manner that garnered Washi admiring looks from admirable people.

If one could peer beneath Ma's bandages, one might get the impression that they were feeling annoyed. Quite a calm person—small children taught you that patience, and to have eyes in the back of your head for those who weren't blessed with that Quirk—Ma felt riled by the cocky twist of Washi Ofuda's lips.

More paper talismans were slipping from Ofuda's sleeves. They covered the ground, sticking to it in some places, and they were in the air too. Ectoplasm brushed one stray slip away from his face before it could settle there.

"Try trapping me now," Ofuda jeered. Feeling incredibly condiment, he settled on the ground; crossing his legs under him in a meditative stance.

Ma tilted their head to the side. The multiple layers of bandages wrapped around their limbs began to unravel. They crossed one another; weaving in and out from under each strand to form a thick net. Ma raised the bandage-net up skywards with a gentle flick of their right wrist. With another, the net came tumbling down.

Ofuda's chin jutted out, cajolingly. Ma's net impacted with something… invisible. The bandages fizzled into thin air, having hit a barrier. Having multiple paper talismans floating around, some charged by Washi's Quirk and others not, disguised his true intentions. It also hid the foundation points of the barrier. Ma would have to tear apart every tag in the arena, and that would mean setting foot outside of the strict boundary monitored by Ectoplasm.

With a frustrated huff, Ma sent a slew of bandages to jab at Washi's barrier. They pulled them back sharply when they also began to fizzle on contact. Ma's bandages were an extension of themselves; the burning sensation they felt was irritating, and painful just enough for them to quit while they were ahead.

Like Minamoto and Hiro, this had been a bad match up. The other way around, with Minamoto and Ma facing each other and Ofuda and Hiro instead, then the result could have swung either way.

Ma was trapped. Washi Ofuda hadn't even had to place Ma inside a barrier to do that.

The expression on Ofuda's face was one of unabashed glee. "Giving up?" he gloated.

"Are you?" Ectoplasm asked.

Ma nodded.

Washi Ofuda advanced to the next round.

* * *

Ichi and Ni wrapped around Suge's head as curled her knees up to her chest and groaned. Beside her, Midoriya winced.

"It, it looked like just a really bad matchup," the boy hedged. "I mean, their Quirks are both really strong, and working together they'd make an incredibly dynamic and efficient team—could you imagine their capture capabilities?—but against one another they're at a stalemate. They've both got quirks suited to capturing and incapacitating opponents before they realise, so why they'd be put in an offensive situation against one another is beyond me. Still, someone had to win, and Hotai looked like they lean to more offensive styles, I still can't get over the fact that they've be a killer duo; not like _killer_ killer, like, like, wow, y'know-"

Suge groaned again. "Midoriya, my child, _breathe_."

Izuku's mouth popped shut.

Hajime snorted. She'd watched in dismay as Ma tried fruitlessly to find a work around for Ofuda's talisman-erected barrier, and while she was disappointed that Ma would struggle to juggle two small children and tuition costs, she couldn't deny that she was glad they were out of the competition.

An ever-lethargic part of Hajime which had earned her a useless degree (also known as her brain, when it was motivated) quickly calculated how long it would take for Ofuda to snap if she had been the one facing him, and the one stuck inside one of his barriers. All it would take was Hajime deciding not to forfeit: her reluctance to move while trapped, and to not back down, would mean that for Ofuda to win he would have to enter or drop his barrier. That would leave them both exposed to each other's attacks.

'attacks.' Hajime shook her head. There was a reason she didn't like thinking strategically, because she was smart enough to create successful plans and it usually meant she got her hopes up. And that was bad. Hopes and dreams were meant to be crushed if you were Quirkless. This Heroics course was messing with her head—with who she _was._

Hajime wasn't entirely sure she didn't hate that.

There was a subtle sort of power, a secretive rush of pride, accompanying thoughts of how one would have succeeded where other's failed. Hajime had had a lot of time to think in twenty-two years. She also knew that with pride came the fall, and here it was!

"Itou." Minamoto greeted her before throwing himself unceremoniously into the seat Ma had vacated roughly ten minutes prior.

Hajime's lip quivered, catching the way strands of Minamoto's hair brushed his shoulders. She hated feeling afraid. "Rival," she responded, unconvincingly.

Frowning, Sentaro leant over into Hajime's space. Her breath hitched. A hank of his fringe brushed against her nose.

"I don't know what your problem is, Itou, but you gotta stop before we fight one another."

"You're assuming I have a chance against Bob."

His toothy grin was just as sharp as his hair. "I know you'll win. You _want_ to win. But you keep backin' off—we're rivals Itou. We can't face anyone else but each other, it's, like, destiny."

(Midoriya gripped at Ni so tightly that Suge and Ichi both hissed warningly. There were tears threatening to fall down the teen's face, but this time they were happy tears. Or so Suge thought. 'They're rivals, she has a rival, oh my gosh,' Midoriya lisped. Suge's lips curled happily.)

Hajime couldn't help the derisive, hiccupping laugh that escaped her. "What would you know about destiny? Why would you even believe in it too, you're… you?"

"I've been learning how to forge blades with my Gramps since I was eight. By fourteen I was apprenticing under him, keeping the family trade alive. My Quirk runs through the family in different variations, but I suppose mine is fairly useless considering the blades disintegrate over time. I can't use my hair to forge; the blades my Quirk makes are crude, but damn good for throwin'. Because I'm lacking, I gotta make up for it in other ways. I've got to prove to my Gramps that I'm worthy, I've got to make him proud."

Minamoto tugged at the ends of his hair but didn't pull out any of it, much to Hajime's relief. She could feel her eyes glaze over though.

"While my relatives squandered time, time they could have spent learning, I studied the blade. I gained my mastery in the forge to keep the Minamoto legacy alive, so I can make and wield weapons both literally and in the Quirk sense. Then, Gramps told me about this course 'cos one of my cousins goes to another big Hero academy. And I thought, 'That makes him proud of them, so I've got to do my best to be a Hero too.' So here I am, and you're my rival, and I'm gonna kick your arse. Got it?"

"…No?"

Haijme's head hurt. Who knew Minamoto could talk so much?

"Robert Takahashi and Hajime Itou. Prepare yourselves!" Ectoplasm beckoned for the pair to make their way down to the field.

Soon Hajime's _everything_ was going to hurt, and not just her head. She was sure of it. What she didn't know was 'when', exactly, the pain would announce itself.

* * *

 **Musical Inspiration:**

"Killing me softly" – Fugees, 'The Score'

"Jackboot Jump" – Hozier, 'Jackboot Jump—Live'

* * *

 **A/N [4/11/2019]** **: Pssst. Psst, hey! I graduate with a Masters Degree next week!**

 **I felt really inspired to write this chapter; after feeling like Hajime's story was stuck in a bit of a rut, I'm glad she's got something to develop her character - like a fear of needles. If you find any of the fight scenes lacking, well, part of that is my intent. They're adults (well, most of them), and don't feel the need for flashy behaviour. The other part is that I suck at writing action sequences, sooooo...  
**

 **We also have three chapters remaining, which I still need to write but have pretty solid plans for. Let's see how much chaos I can create, huh?**


	8. I Need That

**A/N [17/1/2020] :** Shout out to the lovely **Nightingale2004** for their review. It cheered me up while I was going through a rough couple of days, so thank you! Aizawa is a fave of mine too, and in this fic he's reluctantly adopted another fifteen (very grown up) kids.

I've proofread this myself, so kindly please point out any mistakes I've made in a review or just PM me.

* * *

 **LATE HERO ACADEMIA**

 **CHAPTER EIGHT**

 **I NEED THAT  
**

* * *

"It's not too late to back down, y'know?" Call-me-Bob told Hajime as they took their places on the raised plinth. Ectoplasm nodded to them in acknowledgment. His eyes lingered on Hajime. Hajime wondered if that was due to her attire or because of how the Hero believed this battle would end.

"What do I know?" Hajime replied. Because she did not know, y'know? Why would she want to back down now? Even though she was scared witless and shi— _well_ , scared of a multitude of things, including Miwa's rage over losing Enso. It was that last point that had her out on this field and not cowering in a corner.

Ectoplasm chose to interrupt before Bob could explain just exactly why Hajime should currently have been running in fear. "Do you wish to forfeit?"

Hajime winced. Of course, she did. She instead asked, "Why don't you ask Bobbert if he does? Why is it always me who gets asked these things?"

(She did, actually, know why she got asked those things. Hajime was just being deliberately more obtuse than usual.)

If Ectoplasm sighed one of those long-suffering sighs that Aizawa reserved for Izuku Midoriya and Hajime Itou, then neither competitor nor the overhead broadcasting camera's dotted about overheard it. "If that's all, then—"

"You can step down y'know. There's no shame in backing out before you get knocked down any further," Call-me-Bob assured Hajime, concern (or at least an attempt at concern) written on his face. "We all didn't think you'd get this far, truthfully, so y'know, well done. But you're only going to get hurt if you continue."

Well, it was finally nice to know what her classmates (excluding Ma, and Suge, and... probably Minamoto, and maybe that Midoriya kid-) thought of her.

Hajime was going to regret this later when the bruises fully formed atop her skin, or she was placed in traction. She rubbed at her temples frustratedly. "Can we just get this over and done with, please? If I'm going to have to be 'taken down', or whatever, then at least kick the crap out of me before Minamoto does."

"Begin!" Ectoplasm cried.

Call-me-Bob didn't move.

Neither did Hajime.

Ectoplasm coughed. "B… begin?"

* * *

"…Um."

"He's tryin' to pressure her into walkin' out the ring," Sentaro growled to a confused Suge.

Sat behind the pair (and how in the world had Suge found herself seated beside Minamoto?), Tsuchiko bit her lip. "I think he's trying to let her down easy," she said. "I've sparred with Bobby before, and he doesn't like to hurt me either."

What Tsuchiko failed to mention was at the end of said sparring matches, Robert sported more bruises than herself because of Tsuchiko's kangaroo-kicks. In fact, he could hardly get a counterattack in place before she kicked him to the curb again.

Robert Takahashi was a strong opponent in the right circumstances. He'd excelled in the second round—the maze—because of the close quarters. He'd had a lot of surface area to work with; enclosed spaces meant he could contain his Quirk more easily, and with force behind his movements it made him downright lethal. Just as a stray tennis ball hit by a professional player at one-hundred-and-something miles an hour could cause a nasty injury, so could Robert.

Tennis ball or rubber-tastic limbs, either way you were in for a bad time and some friction burns.

What Tsuchiko was worried over was the openness of the arena. The plinth was simultaneously enclosed and open; the only direction Robert could propel himself was up… or across to collide with someone. Either way, the lack of a tangible wall for him to ping off would be an issue. (She decided to keep that to herself, quietly confident that her Bobby would be getting through to the next round.)

"What he doesn't know is that Hajime is preeeeety good at holding her own." Suge's grin was feral. "Miwa told me she kicked Masaki in the 'nads when they were training. Poor guy couldn't walk straight for the rest of the day." (Privately, Suge wondered if that Pro Hero was some sort of masochist, seeing as his interest in her friend hadn't waned. Yet.)

Sentaro winced sympathetically. "That's my rival for you."

"But that's just brawling," Tsuchiko countered. "What is she going to be able to do against someone with a Quirk? Once Bobby gets moving, he's unstoppable!"

* * *

Ectoplasm was just shy of calling this hand-to-hand match a write-off, but finally—after a good five minutes of inactivity—Robert Takahashi began to move.

"Look, I didn't want to do this-"

"Why are you bouncing on your toes?" Hajime queried, genuinely perplexed.

"-but you've left me no choice. I was going to let you back down, but you didn't. I gave you ample time to exit the boundary here, but you didn't-"

"Seriously, can you stop moving?" Call-me-Bob was now hopping from foot to foot; the movement of his legs and feet was starting to blur, and Hajime could hear faint little squeaks like rubber-soled shoes on a waxed floor, or a bouncy ball pinging off a wall. She didn't like it one bit.

"-so you've really left me no choice." Call-me-Bob crouched low. His legs rippled and quivered. Hajime's eyes were transfixed by the horrific quality to the motion; it looked as though Robert's lower body was contorting unnaturally, like a wet rag being rung into a tight spiral and simultaneously shaken out liek stretchy taffy.

Super freaky, honestly.

"You won't see the next round. Bye, Itou."

Robert took flight, propelled into the air with the energy he'd built up. It was like watching the progression of a children's playground ball game, where at least one child is particularly spiteful and liable to throw the ball out of bounds (ie. Over the fence and unreachable into the crotchety neighbour's garden).

Up and up and up went Call-me-Bob. Hajime lost track of him for a second, and then, down he came; colliding with his launch site at a sickening angle and flinging himself straight at her with a terrible screech of rubber and a fist aimed at Hajime's face.

Hajime panicked. She'd been in this kind of situation before, though nothing so crucial as this. Miwa had a sadistic streak after all, and Hajime had spent a very, very long time dodging the things her Aunt had thrown at her face.

Call-me-Bob streaked ever closer. Too close.

Hajime wouldn't have time to lunge out of the way.

She fell back awkwardly; death dropping to the ground in a flail of limbs. One leg extended in a windmill of flustered activity… and it landed a hit. Hajime clamped one hand to her face and the other to her chest. She had to protect those assets, otherwise she'd never model for Miwa again. Facial and breast reconstruction via rubber sucker punch sounded like something to be avoided at all costs.

The arena fell silent.

The MH students couldn't believe what they had just seen.

"Of all the dumb luck," Aizawa murmured. He shook his head.

Robert Takahashi had thrown himself out of bounds with the assistance of his own Quirk and a little helping hand from the strength of Hajime Itou's carthorse kicks. What was more unbelievable was that apart from the leg that struck out on its own, Itou's first instinct had been to throw herself out of danger. She had also managed to throw said 'danger' out of bounds somehow in the process.

Bob hadn't managed to move from where he stood after bounding to a halt, deathly still on the grass and in shock over his loss. A shin-sized welt was forming along the left side of his chest, courtesy of Hajime.

Slightly perturbed, Ectoplasm announced: "Winner: Hajime Itou."

The winner in question only just managed to stifle a hysterical giggle. A strange, keening, burble escaped from her throat instead. Hajime couldn't remember the last time she had laughed so freely—and yes, she was counting it as a laugh in all the confusion.

"Am I still alive?" Hajime called out to Ectoplasm.

"Physically or on the inside?" he replied.

"That's a good question, but I gave up caring ages ago." Her lips curled up in an involuntary smile. "Thank you, Miwa, for being batshit insane, but honestly, I may have just peed a little."

And truthfully, if not for the raucous the crowd of Yuuei students was creating, that tiny titbit would have been plastered across a nation-wide broadcast. Goodbye dignity.

Ectoplasm looked up to Aizawa (who was slowly sinking lower in his seat) and wondered, between Class 1-A and the MH Class, just how exactly the man hadn't gone off the deep end yet. Unawares of Ectoplasm's thoughts of 'Where did they find this girl, and can we send her back, _please_?', Hajime focused on peeling her adrenaline ridden body away from the concrete and not laughing again. It wasn't going so well.

* * *

Tsuchiko held her head in her hands. "Oh Bobby…"

Suge was doubled over as she cackled. Ichi had wrapped themselves around her torso, while Ni had looped about Midoriya's chest; gently crushing the boy. "Oh, ahah… ha… that's priceless! Hey! Heheh… That's my phone- Minamoto, will you get that?"

Ichi lapped at the joyous tears streaming from Suge's eyes. As she was currently occupied by her laughing fit, Minamoto had no choice but to grab Suge's smartphone from her lap and answer the incoming call. He held it out towards her face gingerly.

 _"Ah, um, is this Suge? Miwa said to call you because she's too busy screaming-"_

"No. This is Itou's rival. Suge is…" Suge was gasping for breath from laughing too hard. "Who am I speakin' to?"

 _"I'm Masaki. I think, if Miwa was, um, yeah, she would be telling Hajime how proud of her she is. I was told she—Miwa, that is—had a ninja phase, but to be honest I'm not sure whether my heart can take much more of this. First Iida, now Hajime, and I… firstly, I am in awe of what Hajime can do, but I swear heroics wasn't such a danger-fraught occupation when I was in training-"_

Sentaro hung up.

"Why did you do that?" Suge complained through heaving breaths.

Minamoto shrugged. "He was getting' on my nerves."

* * *

It took some time for the Pros on Yuuei's staff roster to get the crowd into some semblance of order again. Hajime's win was an unprecedented surprise, especially thanks to the Class 1-A rumour mill (Mina, Denki, and Tōru) playing pass-it-on-she's-Quirkless with other classes and year groups in the arena.

Hajime stood dumbly by Ectoplasm's side while the Hero tried to rouse Call-me-Bob from his wide-eyed stupor.

"Call-me-Bob? Bobbert, we've gotta go. The next match started five minutes ago," Hajime intoned somewhat kindly. She grasped Bob's bicep, gently tugging him towards the stairs leading up into the stands.

"You beat me."

"Uh-huh."

"You beat _me."_

"I mean, I ducked and got lucky, I guess. But yes, I beat you. We've got to let Tsuchiko and Souma duke it out now, so c'mon. Back to the stands yeah?"

"Yeah."

* * *

"Souma Souta, Tsuchiko Usakichi. If you'll take your places, please?" Ectoplasm declared.

Tsuchiko worried her lip between her teeth. She didn't know a lot about Souma, mostly because he wasn't forthcoming to begin with. He had a nice voice, and his shoulders were broad, and she vaguely knew that he had an air manipulation Quirk. But that was all. There was nothing she could exploit through that information.

She tipped her head back as she walked out towards the raised plinth in the arena. For such an overcast day it sure was hot out. Not even the tepid, oppressively closeness of the weather before the rain hit, but straight up hot. Like the California sunshine she'd felt dancing on her skin when she first met Bobby.

Well, Tsuchiko surmised as she fanned herself, Souma's air manipulating Quirk was useful. She knew at least what he might hit her with, and that she'd have to be careful not to get thrown off her feet if her turned out to be strong. What she couldn't determine from that alone was the pressure he might wield; the temperature, strength, or limitations couldn't be guessed at either.

Why was it so darn hot out?

Tsuchiko pulled her regulation MH Class top away from her chest, wafting the material gently. She watched with hazy eyes as Souma took up his position across from her. Tsuchiko was scrabbling to breathe; found she couldn't draw in enough air, and then when she could it _scalded_ her throat.

Her choked 'Yes!' to Ectoplasm as the Pro inquired as to whether both competitors were ready was a laborious thing.

"Are you okay?" Souma asked her coldly.

He was cool. So cool. His demeaner, his presence. Refreshing, like a breath of crisp winter air.

Tsuchiko shook her head. Swallowed down the taste of vomit in her mouth. Had Itou's earlier vomiting spree been less of a nerves-thing and more of a hope-you-catch-my-stomach-bug kind of occasion?

Then Tsuchiko saw Souma move his fingers.

It was the slightest gesture, easily missed. But it looked like he was pulling something back. The air returned, but the arena swam around her. Souma had been meddling with the air around her well before they'd started their match. He had been slowly choking her; using her body's limitations against her.

"It's you…" Tsuchiko rasped. "You've done this to me-"

"I clearly specified for you both to begin," Ectoplasm chastised. "Scoot, people! We've got more matches to get through."

"No! Stop!" Tsuchiko yelped as Souma moved his fingers again. The floor rushed up to meet her.

* * *

"Winner: Souma Souta!"

* * *

Ectoplasm could see why Vlad King had bowed out after two rounds of refereeing. This MH Class was whack. One Quirkless student, another who collapsed on command despite being healthy enough to battle before that, a rubber man, and a stab-happy maniac.

Aizawa's therapist, if the man had one, must have been prescribing him the good stuff. If not, then Ectoplasm's respect for Eraserhead had increased ten-fold. Anyone else would have snapped and moved to the country by now. Or, just to be safe, _another country._

"Hasn't this festival been suuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuper riveting so far?!" Present Mic's voice bellowed.

"In my honest-" here Midnight's tone turned sultry, _breathy_ , and totally inappropriate for use around children—even teenagers with things like 'hormones' and a 'burgeoning adulthood', "- _opinion_ , the competition are lacking in stamina. I hope, as we go through to the final round, that the battles to come will be simply… _tantalising."_

Present Mic cleared his throat. "As all of the progressing competitors from the last round are uninjured and happy to fight on, we will not be taking a scheduled break. Best of luck to Round Three's competitors; Hajime Itou, Sentaro Minamoto, Souma Souta, and Washi Ofuda!"

Though Ectoplasm would have liked to have run (oh so far away), he called for the first pair to make their way to the battlefield. "Souta, Ofuda. You're up!"

Hajime felt a little vomit creep into her mouth. It was as she'd feared. Sentaro Minamoto and his Quirk were inevitable. How foolish she'd been to have accepted his rivalry. Well, no. It hadn't been foolish of her at the time; Hajime had felt that Minamoto had just offered her the universe's weirdest olive branch right there in the lady's loos, but she hadn't predicted any repercussions. Then he had to go and rip his hair out and use it as a toothpick.

If it had been Ofuda, then maybe she wouldn't have minded donkey-kicking her opponent. But Hajime couldn't even look at Minamoto now without feeling a tad queasy.

Souma and Washi took their places opposite one another on the field. The latter looked entirely too confident in himself, and the former wasn't really showing any emotion. His fingers were fidgeting, however—something which Washi noticed immediately.

Overhead, Mic announced that the victors of each battle would instantly progress into the final. The two runners up, who would normally battle for third place, would find their placing settled by how much damage they took in the battle before. Say, if during the battles that, out of Souma, Sentaro, Hajime, and Washi, only two competitors advanced, one was knocked out cold, and the other received a nasty injury, the ones to advance would be the respective winners and the concious injured party. The concious injured competitor instantly took third place, with another battle ongoing to decide second and first.

It seemed strange, especially as third place was not to be achieved with skill—rather, how well your pain tolerance was and a decent stroke of luck—but Yuuei had to let its students go home at some point. Time was marching on; it was currently quarter past two in the afternoon, and the festival had been ongoing since eleven.

"Ready?" Ectoplasm looked at each of them. "Then… BEGIN!"

Souma's fingers spasmed, and Washi felt the pressure change in the air around him.

"So that's how you did it," the younger man smiled grimly. "You don't just manipulate 'air', you control it's qualities too. Warm, freezing cold, thin, cloyingly thick… the Kangaroo didn't know what hit her until it was too late."

"You talk far too much," said Souma. His fingers tightened into fists.

Washi felt choked. Slips of paper spilled from his sleeves, flooding the arena. With trembling hands, he gestured them forwards, hoping to slice Souma Souta into slivers. The paper talismans hung limply in the air; those closer to the clouds shrivelled. Wet paper cascaded from the skyline.

The choking let up, and Washi collapsed to his knees gasping. "How dare you… how dare you…" His eyes narrowed dangerously. "Take this!"

The remaining papers which were previously scattered through the arena zipped back to Washi's awaiting palms. He chanted under his breath; nonsensical, almost ecclesiastical, desperate murmurs that belied how out of his depth Washi felt. No one had ever had the audacity to bypass his Quirk before—no one should _ever_ have been able to attack him in such a casual manner.

Washi focused on twisting the talismans into something bigger, something far stronger. Something capable of crushing Souma Souta underfoot. Washi ignored the way his breath came in sharp, shallow gasps. His powder-blue hair, usually coiffed to perfection, stuck in sweaty tangles against his face.

A roar from the crowd sounded as Washi's creation unfurled. Strung together like ropes, the talisman had created a titanic form; it was humanoid, though lacked any detailed features or distinction. The talismans had formed a giant's figure straight from the folklore the elders had shared with their young charge. Tales which had delighted him and scared him to death as soon as nightime fell and the spirits ran amok in the city streets.

Washi's barked laughter was borderline vicious. "Take that!"

The paper giant turned to its creator; it's faceless visage somehow questioning, unfathomable loyalty manipulating its limbs. _"Crush him,"_ growled Washi.

Souma seemed a little disconcerted. His broad shoulders seemed tense. His hands rose up in front of his torso; fingers taught and ready to shift the winds.

"What will you do now?" Washi's voice carried across the air maniacally.

"This," replied Soma. His fingers drew inwards tightly, grasping, choking, shuddering under the pressure exerted—

One hand was quickly flung outwards, the other maintained its harsh hold.

The paper giant was torn into shreds. Paper exploded everywhere.

Washi Ofuda slumped to the ground a second time, as though a tremendous weight held him down. His eyes fluttered shut.

Ectoplasm, watching on, swallowed nervously. "Washi Ofuda is incapacitated. Souma Souta will advance to the final."

* * *

Watching from the stairwell (as there wasn't much use in walking all the way back to the MH Class' seats if they were going to be called back down to the field almost immediately) Hajime and Sentaro shared a glance.

Hajime regretted it instantly. Her stomach rolled, and she gagged. She hid her mouth behind her hand to give the meagre contents of her stomach nowhere to escape to. If Minamoto hadn't been noticing how odd his rival had been acting all afternoon, then he might have written it off as indigestion. But no, Itou was still acting weird. Weirder than usual, that was.

"I didn't know Souta was so strong," he tried conversationally. Hajime shook her head. "Still, I'm sure I'll give him a hard time."

Through her sickliness, Hajime managed to say; "What if I win?"

"Hah." Minamoto snorted. "You're goin' to back down like you've been doin' all afternoon. Can't even look me in the eye, can you, coward? I told you earlier not to back down, and I thought you'd come an' meet me man-to-man in our battler. So much for bein' my rival, if you won't acknowledge me at all."

"It's not that…" Hajime muttered frustratedly. He wasn't listening, and it was making her angry. She had no problem being Minamoto's rival, she just couldn't stand his power. She wanted to progress; she knew she had no choice but to do that. But his Quirk was bringing it all back, and Hajime needed to let Sentaro know that. If she did, then maybe he'd battle her with hand-to-hand than hand-to-Quirk? "It's… it's that your Qui—"

At that moment, they were called down to the plinth. It was their turn to battle.

"Don't hold back, Itou." Minamoto strode out onto the sports field with his head held high.

Hajime closed her eyes tightly. Tipped her head back. Swallowed the lump and the bile in her throat a couple of times. Tried to ignore the excess of saliva in her mouth. Tried to stop her legs from shaking. Tried to move down off the contrete step she was stood on because she couldn't back down now. She had to do this. For Miwa. She couldn't indebt Miwa any more than she had, despite this fear holding her back.

She could face down needles if it helped Miwa, Hajime supposed.

She took a step ono the sports field. Felt longer strands of grass scratch underneath the hem of her tracksuit bottoms and tickle her ankle. One foot after another. That was it.

"Nice of you to join us," Ectoplasm drawled. "Do either of you wish to forfeit?"

"Never," said Minamoto.

Hajime looked worriedly at the crowds. She was trying to pinpoint Miwa and Masaki despite the mass of people. Would they understand if she backed out now? Would they be okay with it? Hajime wasn't sure she could do this, actually, now that she was out here. She and Miwa had lived on a pittance before, so they could surely do it again, right?!

"Hajime Itou, do you wish to forfeit?"

"No!" Hajime shrieked, then clamped a hand over her mouth. She heaved in a (calming) breath. "No, I do not wish to forfeit."

Minamoto had a strange glimmer in his eye, Hajime noted. It was nice. Predatory, she supposed, but nice. It made him seem softer, despite all of his (literal) sharp edges, did that mischeivous twinkle. "There's my rival. I knew you wouldn't back down."

Hajime grunted noncommittedly, not trusting herself to speak lest she vomited either verbally or for real.

"Right…" Ectoplasm looked at Hajime. Then Sentaro. Then Hajime again. "If you're both fine to continue, then, Hajime Itou, Sentaro Minamoto: BEGIN!"

Immediately, Minamoto gripped at his hair.

Hajime tensed.

"Come at me, Itou!" Two hanks of hair solidified into wide, flat blades in Minamoto's hands. "This is our first true battle!"

Hajime shook her head. "Make me," she said slowly. Something clicked in Hajime's head. Repeating herself, this time with a little more confidence, she cried; "Make me!"

Other than the basic self-defence Masaki had drilled into her, and the use of her legs, Hajime was brilliant at evading. For a tall woman, she was used to twisting her body this way and that, and she had proven in the last round that she could move with swift efficiency. Even if said efficiency was reactive more so than it was deliberate.

* * *

Ma and Suge, and their newly acquired shadows (Midoriya and his friends Iida and Todoroki) had made the trip across the stadium to find Miwa and Masaki. Ma was anxious to see their children again, and Suge was desperate to check in with Miwa away from the prying eyes of the MH Class. Along the way—as Suge had expected Midoriya to come with anyway—they had picked up Iida and Todorki, who may or may not have been involved with Hajime's accident.

"Miwa, she's bricking it," winced Suge. They'd made it just in time to see Washi Ofuda carted off by the Yuuei medic drones, and to watch Hajime nervously waddle her way onto the field after Minamoto. "She's bricking it and there's no debt to pay off."

"What do you mean there's no debt?" Miwa snapped, nodding at the three teenagers and handing one of the twins sat on her lap (they had each taken a seat on her legs, avoiding Masaki like the plague) to Ma.

"The Mature Heroics Class is in debt?" Iida inquired.

Todoroki tilted his head to the side like a curious cat. "A logical ruse…?"

Slack-jawed, Suge interally asked why these kids weren't Heroes already, seeing as the adults couldn't see through Aizawa's ploy. "Hajime and the rest of us thought we were trying to get to the final because otherwise we'd be forced to pay back the full amount of our tuition, which had been provided for free by Yuuei and the Government. Everyone who's been knocked out knows this isn't true, like, I can't believe we didn't see through it before now, but money's a big deal y'know?"

Todoroki blinked slowly. "Eraserhead is good at mind games."

"So, everyone still in the competition thinks they have to battle seriously?" asked Miwa.

"We're not sure about Souma," Ma replied. "Minamoto is battling for the sake of winning, not due to the tuition costs, and Hajime is trying to put you first although the odds are stacked against her."

"But she's amazing," protested Midoriya. He babbled on, "I know that if I was in her situation, I wouldn't have made it this far. You're amazing for raising an amazing person Ms. Miwa! I want to be like Hajime when I grow up."

Masaki, who had been watching the Hajime's form keenly, started suddenly. "Iida?!"

"Manual, sir! It is pleasant to see you again." Hand chops ensued.

A brief smile flittered across Masaki's face. It promptly fell. "Miwa, I'm not sure how much more of this I can take. I was there when Hajime was hurt the first time, and that was accidental, but to see her deliberately hurt right in front of me? I don't think I could bear it. Getting to know her, I realise that she's stronger than she lets on, but I'm so worried. What if that brute does some-"

"Huh." Suge blinked. "You _like_ her."

Masaki's head snapped around so quickly to face Suge you could hear his neck joints crack in several places. His face was reddened. "I never said that."

"You implied it~" Suge sang. "You luuurve her, you want to protect her, but you respect her because she's a strong, independent, Quirkless woman in a world of superpowers and she's kicked you in the 'nads hard enough to incapacitate you before."

It was at this point that the group had lost Manual to his feelings. "She does have lovely legs."

"Face it, you're into Hajime Itou."

"I mean… I guess?"

"Todoroki! Isn't Hajime so cool? She has a rival and a love interest!" Midoriya had starry eyes. (Todoroki looked to be taking notes while shooting intermittent glances at Midoriya: Must need 'rival' [acquired] and 'love interest'; mutually exclusive?) Izuku hung over the arena bannister, watching Sentaro and Hajime's figures darting around on the sports field.

"As much as I'd love to see you woo my overly dense niece, shouldn't we be watching her right now?" Miwa leant forward in her seat. Her Quirk activated; while normally used for gauging minute measurements of customers (whom she fitted vintage clothing to or made slight alterations for on request), it could also be used as a vague telescopic zoom. It hurt Miwa to use this side of her Quirk for too long, but for Hajime she'd suffer just a little. "I'm curious whether she'll make it or not."

Masaki murmured under his breath, "I really hope she doesn't."

* * *

"Stay still Itou!" growled Sentaro. He slashed out again with his hair-blades, missing again as Hajime span away.

When she gained enough distance between them, Hajime would still. She shifted from foot to foot, ready to move sharply again, but would pause to take stock of her surroundings. Luring Minamoto outside of the boundary would be ideal, but she also ran the risk of being cornered herself; putting a foot outside of an intangible barrier to avoid him would be game over. Hajime didn't know whether she felt brave or not. But she was holding her own, if holding one's own meant escaping at any given turn.

So, Hajime paused. Minamoto lunged. She evaded. Paused.

Then, Sentaro Minamoto's Quirk revealed another secret.

Hajime recalled him saying (she was listening, sort of, while he ranted earlier) about how his blades were not permanent and therefore couldn't be forged into refined swords. Before her eyes, Minamoto's blades shrivelled into dry strands of brittle hair. Their time was up. The clench of her opponent's fists snapped the fragile locks into fragments which drifted off in the slight afternoon breeze.

Hope filled her: She could just evade and evade and evade until Minamoto went bald!

Realistically, Hajime knew she didn't have the stamina to back that plan up, however it was always nice to have options.

"Itou! Fight me!"

"Nu-uh!" she called back childishly, ducking just in time to avoid the third sharp projectile aimed at her head that battle. "Why are you so into me fighting you, you maniac?!"

"Because you're strong!" roared Minamoto, ripping at his hair. Hajime breathed out a little swear. (If she weren't fighting for her life, and the money, she'd have felt a little flattered about someone seeing strength in little old her.)

Like she'd predicted, Hajime had found herself backed into a corner. She could no longer dive to the side for fear of being found out of bounds. Her only form of escape would be to duck under one of Minamoto's swings. Timing it just right would be essenti— _now!_

Rolling, and somehow managing to kick Minamoto in the thigh while she was at it, Hajime inelegantly plonked herself in the middle of the concrete arena. She rose to her feet with the grace of a startled newborn fawn, whipping around so as to not keep Sentaro Minamoto out of her sight, and time seemed to slow.

Then it quickened.

Hajime was the one to react just a fraction too slowly.

One moment Sentaro had been holding a chunky projectile, roughly the weight of large knitting needles you saw crafters use to make ginormous fluffy furnishings—though far sharper—and the next it was lodged in Hajime's chest.

She breathed in sharply. It _hurt_. The world began to swirl.

Hajime looked at Sentaro accusingly. "You stabbed me in the tit! I need that tit!" **[1]**

* * *

 **[1] I HAVE BEEN WAITING FOR TWO YEARS TO WRITE THAT LINE!1!**

* * *

 **So, I graduated. Struggled with my health for a little bit. Decided to take up running to demonstrate to the doctors that even if I'm healthy af there's something wrong with me. Week 2.5 of steady runs, and I think I've got shin splints? Hopefully it's just muscular, and getting a proper fitting for shoes will take the strain off, but if not um…** ( ;ﾟдﾟ)

 **How have you all been?**

* * *

Musical Inspiration:

"Pressure" – MUSE, 'Pressure'

"Don't Call Me Angel" – Arianna Grande, Mylie Cyrus, and Lana Del Rey, 'Charlie's Angels Original Motion Picture Soundtrack'

"HIP" – Mamamoo, 'reality in BLACK'


	9. Finale

**A/N [8/2/2020]:** This was a biiiiiig biiiiiiiiiiig chapter. Like, I couldn't stop writing otherwise Ch.10 would be huuuuuuge, but I also couldn't stop writing because there'd be bits missing from this chapter. It just didn't stop! (I aim for about 5,000 words/chapter in this fic, so I severely overshot this time.)

Thank you again for your wonderful reviews! They brighten my day.

Once again, this chapter isn't Beta'd, so feel free to play Mistake Bingo.

* * *

 **LATE HERO ACADEMIA**

 **CHAPTER NINE**

 **FINALE**

* * *

"Don't think for a second I ain't gonna go easy on you, 'cos I didn't against Itou."

Sentaro was frowning at Souma. His throat had felt tight earlier, like he couldn't breathe, but that had abated for now. Sentaro chalked it down to feeling sickly. He'd stabbed his rival, sure, on accident, but stabbed her, nonetheless. He hadn't intended to, and Sentaro's confidence in his skill with blades flickered momentarily.

His grandfather had always taught him that any blade, from a humble butter knife to a fearsome claymore, was dangerous. No matter the hand that wielded it, a blade used with the intent to harm would inflict harm. Sentaro had not intended to hurt Hajime. Honestly, he hadn't. Hajime Itou was just unpredictable, he reasoned. She'd kept him on the ropes long enough for him to resort to yanking out one of the longest sections of his wild hair and then he'd stabbed her. Accidentally.

Poniard was a strange Quirk. It was a great genetic gift, and a handy ability for a Hero (or a Villain) to possess. It was different to the Quirks the rest of his family had; far less stable, more mutable. Brilliant for short bursts of activity, but not suited for longevity. Some of the greatest Minamoto swords from history were forged from the Minamoto family's hair-based Quirks and were still as lethal as they had been hundreds of years ago.

Sentaro had wanted to pin Hajime down. She'd rolled past him, and seeing as she didn't have a Quirk to boost her athleticism or spatial awareness, he'd aimed fairly high to make her duck (he'd planned for a second blade to pin her trouser leg to the ground when she did). Only, Hajime had been quicker than he thought, and Sentaro was frustrated from watching her dance around him, and the timing was off, and she'd been _right there_ when his blade was thrown.

That didn't excuse what he'd done. It wasn't Hajime's fault, not really.

Sentaro felt sick again. Souma hadn't moved a muscle.

"Begin!" Ectoplasm cried.

Hajime had dropped to her knees after saying something ridiculous, trying to grasp at her chest and the white fabric of the t-shirt had slowly turned bloody red. She'd looked at him with wide, frightened eyes. He hadn't been able to move. The medical bots had flooded the arena; scooping Hajime up and leaving him on the field. Victorious. A winner who couldn't celebrate his victory, because that was not a true victory.

His grandfather would be ashamed of him.

Souma cocked his head to one side. "You talk big. What can you actually do, though? Other than pin people down or impale them, that is."

Growling—because even after such a monumental cock up, Sentaro's competitive nature still rose to the surface—Sentaro grabbed at his hair. "You wanna see?"

He launched two nimble blades, which to his amazement, sank to the hilt inside an invisible wall. Souma simply adjusted the position of his hands, and the blades clattered to the floor.

"What chance did Itou have, really?" Souma commented lazily, his hands swishing through the air. The gentle breeze rustling through the arena grew fearsome. "Up against you, who throws first and thinks later?"

"Take that back," snarled Minamoto.

"Face it, you call yourself her 'rival', but you were angry. She would have beat you eventually, whether she pushed you out of the ring or you went bald, she still would have won. And you hated that, didn't you? You knew that if you didn't do something then you'd lose."

Sentaro's clenched fists shook with anger. He slowly reached up, grabbed for his hair again and ripped out long sections with deft efficiency. "I think I preferred it when you didn't talk."

They regarded one another for a moment. Then both competitors blurred to action.

Minamoto was off, sprinting over to Souma with his blades ready to slice. Souma retreated a few paces, bringing his hands up to prepare for a counterattack. A blast of wind hit Sentaro in the shoulder, and he nearly lost his grip on the blade in his right hand; he made sure to duck under the next assault, spinning and sliding across the concrete on his knees. Sentaro struck out at Souma's leg. A deep cut was made in one fleshy calf.

Souma bit his lip, trying not to cry out. He crossed his arms, in the likeness of the letter 'X' across his broad chest. The wind lulled. The air was still. Sentaro stood and took a stable stance. Then a gale hit. He was thrown backwards off his feet, stumbling and rolling very close to the boundary lines on the plinth.

"Huh." Souma frowned. "I thought that might have worked better."

Their match continued. Every time that Sentaro got close enough to Souma to injure him, he was thrown back. Rivulets of red were running down Souma's left leg; proof enough for Minamoto that Souma could be hit. Sentaro just needed an opening. Just one. He'd win. He'd do it without seriously hurting anyone further. In some twisted way he was trying to redeem his earlier actions.

Sentaro was running out of hair though. The first few blades he had used had eventually disintegrated between his fingers. There were scant few chunks of ashy locks to turn into lethal blades and needles.

He decided the time was now. With a deafening war cry, Sentaro trundled off into battle; raising his blades, he anticipated yet another strong gust from Souma. One blade was launched; Souma ducked. Sentaro was ready: he lunged, knocked Souma's feet out from under him while the latter was distracted.

They were at an impasse. Sentaro Minamoto had his one remaining blade—a narrow thing roughly the length of a short sword—pressed into the hollow of Souma Sota's throat. He was sure to win.

"Go on," Souma encouraged, tensing. "Do it."

Sentaro grinned.

Souma cringed away; he'd miscalculated with his torments, likely pushed his opponent too far. Now Souma was trapped on his back. His hands were useless, and he couldn't sneakily manipulate the air if Minamoto was poised above him; Souma would be caught before he could try anything, and Minamoto was predictable. If he could stab a Quirkless woman, then what quarrel would he have against ramming a blade through the throat of someone who'd narked him off?

But Sentaro dropped his blade. It rolled away from the pair. Souma didn't dare unclench.

"You're not worth it," Sentaro spat. And then he walked out of the ring.

* * *

"Sentaro Minamoto is out of bounds! The Winner of Yuuei's first ever Mature Heroics Sports Festival is Souma Souta!"

* * *

Waking up to wrinkles nearly had Hajime shrieking.

It hurt too much to breathe, however, so she refrained. Instead, a choked gasp fell from her mouth.

"Oh dear," said the source of the wrinkles. "I thought a numbing cream would have kept you pain free while I sorted this for you, dearie."

Hajime's torso was exposed. She scrunched her neck down, chin flab piling unattractively against her sternum as she surveyed her body. Trickles of red still tippled down her stomach, but the hole in her breast was non-existent. "Wha-?"

"'What happened'?" Hajime nodded. "I did to try and explain things for you before we tackled the removal, but I guess the general anaesthetic did its job a little too well?"

Hajime was having trouble knowing which way was up, and Wrinkles' words made absolutely no sense; 'removal' of what? There was a huge blank patch in her memory. One moment she'd been in the arena fighting Minamoto, and the next she was waking up in this sterile-smelling room with a wrinkly old woman mothering her.

She'd been… Hajime had been battling Sentaro Minamoto. That was right. Yes. She'd been doing well, but if her current surroundings were any indication then-

Involuntary tears pricked at Hajime's eyes.

"I lost, didn't I?" she croaked.

The elderly woman—some kind of doctor or nurse, Hajime realised—snorted. "It would have been interesting to see you finish that battle after being stabbed in the chest, Miss Itou. The medical bots brought you to me instantly, and we prepped you for the removal of the weapon lodged in your chest shortly after that. If it had struck any higher, it would have been your guardian I would be speaking too, and we'd be arranging your final rites. I can understand that this might be very confusing for you, but-"

"But I lost! Miwa's not going to be able to afford paying off the tuition fees while running the shop, all because-" Hajime's tears were falling quicker now, and she hiccupped, and the pain was hurting despite whatever numbing agents were pumping through her blood stream or sinking into her skin, "-all because I'm a Quirkless freak who can't do anything right."

"There's no need for that sort of language in _my_ medical bay, thank you very much. I've seen a lot of sights in my time as a Pro Hero; you might have known me in my active years as 'Recovery Girl'. I've seen some horrific sights, and I've seen brilliant ones too. Never in all my time have I seen someone fight as honestly as you did, child. You are a privilege to watch, and a reminder that our society has grown complacent in the wake of easy power."

"But the debt-"

"What debt?" Recovery Girl asked, her tone soft and placating.

Hajime swallowed painfully. "Aizawa said that everyone in the tournament who didn't win had to pay back their… tuition fees… but, wait, there'd only be one winner?"

Hajime was confused. Aizawa's announcement in preparation for the Sports Festival had raised a lot of tension in the MH Class. He'd deliberately played on their very adult fears (not having enough money to clear debts, not having money to live, not being able to find employment due to debt hanging over you) and succeeded in creating a class of fifteen students who were hungry for victory. Even his most complacent student, poor Hajime Itou who'd, hypothetically, wake up and see the world burning around her and likely go back to sleep, had fought just as hard as her classmates.

And they'd all done so needlessly.

"Yes?"

Hajime narrowed her eyes. Her chest ached. "So, everyone would be in the same boat?"

Recovery Girl shook her head. "Young Aizawa is fond of mind games, Miss Itou. But not without reason. Would you have fought as brilliantly as you did, all without a Quirk and against stronger opponents, if you had not had an incentive?"

Through the dull, aching pain in her chest, Hajime could feel an intense anger brewing. "No. I Wouldn't have fought at all."

"Then you can see why a little, shall we say, 'encouragement' was needed?" Recovery Girl was inspecting a row of neat stiches holding the entry wound on Hajime's chest closed. She clucked her tongue. "I wonder if you have enough energy left in you for a quick heal. Do you feel tired at all?"

(No, Hajime felt royally pissed off.)

"Go for it," she replied. Recovery Girl pushed back Hajime's fringe with a gnarled hand, then planted a wet smooch on her forehead. " _Oh_ … maybe not… enough…" Hajime managed to say before her eyes rolled back into her head.

* * *

Waiting to take his place on the podium, Sentaro clenched his teeth.

Principle Nezu was due to hand out obligatory medals to the triumphant three, only there weren't three people waiting. Hajime Itou was still passed out in the Medical Bay because Sentaro Minamoto had stabbed her.

He still felt sick. He felt torn over his voluntary loss too; proud that he'd had the restraint not to go through with hurting Souma but displeased that he hadn't won. Aizawa's threat hadn't registered at first, because Minamoto was only focused on battling Itou and winning. But now… now Sentaro was worried. He was nineteen, he didn't have the money lying around to pay off those kinds of bills, and his family certainly didn't. Their proud lineage wasn't as lucrative as it used to be, unfortunately.

Rather than roping the competitor in fourth place into accepting the award on behalf of third place (Ofuda was sulking in the med bay with a weepy Tsuchiko, trying his best not to eavesdrop on Recovery Girl as she attended to Hajime), the Yuuei staff had called Miwa Itou down from the stands to collect her niece's award.

Miwa Itou was tiny compared to Hajime. Still as slender, still as fierce, but with an intense, scrutinising look in her eye that could pin you from a hundred paces. Sentaro couldn't look at the woman for too long. He felt too guilty.

"Hey," said Miwa, and Sentaro flinched. "Hajime's going to pull through y'know. She won't die that easily."

It didn't make him feel better, but it was nice to know Itou was still kicking it.

Miwa was called up first to stand on the podium, seeing as Hajime had ended up in third place. She bowed as Nezu handed her a tiny bronze medal attached to a ribbon band, which was made up of Yuuei's school colours. The Headmaster whispered a few low words that Sentaro couldn't hear. Miwa smiled thinly.

When Nezu turned his back to her to collect the next medal, she reached into her pocket, unfolded a piece of paper, and shamelessly wafted it in front of the cameras. Sales made at Enso, both instore and online, would skyrocket once the festival ended.

Overhead, Present Mic called for Sentaro to take his place. He'd come in second. Voluntarily. The silver medal hung heavy around his neck once Nezu placed it there.

Then there was Souma. He'd stared at Sentaro in bafflement after their match. A quick peck on the cheek from Recovery Girl had healed the gash on his leg to an irritating scab, and they's had some time before the stage was rearrange for the awards ceremony, which the staff had hoped would be spent patching injuries or sharing congratulations. Instead, Souma and Sentaro waited in stilted silence, Sentaro pointedly not responding to Souma's questioning looks or attempts to know _why?_

Souma had been quietly confident in himself; he had felt that, unlike Washi Ofuda and some of the others in the class, that he did not need to arrogantly showcase his skills. There was nothing in the rubric about using a Quirk to weaken enemies before a match had begun, especially if you were subtle about it. That nugget of information helped him tremendously well, seeing as he was stood receiving his medal for first place and was supposed to be basking in the attention.

He hadn't felt worried about Itou. Tsuchiko was likely far stronger physically than Itou but had been taken down with little effort. Itou had fought her way through her matches. Using up her luck, some great timing, precognition, instinctual behaviour, however she'd achieved it Hajime had certainly proven that Quirks were not the be all and end all if you were skilled, or smart enough to work around them.

Sentaro Minamoto had noticed that, Souma realised all too late. He realised her worth, because she kept on fighting despite those who belittled her for a stigmatised lack of worth.

The award ceremony was over. The teachers shuffled them out of the arena. The students trickled away from the stands.

"Hey kid," Miwa called to Sentaro. "Come with me. You can see for yourself that Hajime's okay."

"Excuse me," interrupted Souma, "but would you mind if I joined you?"

Miwa snorted. "Nah. She's got about twenty people waiting on her already, what's one more? Word of warning for you though kiddo," here she looked at Minamoto, "watch out for Masaki. He's not your biggest fan at the moment. Don't worry too much though; he believed he jinxed Hajime earlier and now she's hurt because of him. Silly man."

The hallways were abandoned for the most part. Three high schoolers dithered in one passageway, but Miwa didn't seem all that concerned about their presence. "Do none of you have homes to go to?" she asked candidly.

"M-Miwa!" one of the children cried, unused to calling the woman such. "We wanted to check on Hajime, and well, recently we've started living in dorms. Ever since, well, y'know."

"What my esteemed friend is trying to tell you," outburst another child, this time with frequent, jerky hand movements, "is that we were concerned about the safety of your niece. Since we live close to campus it is no trouble for us to wait on an update about her condition."

"Yeah," said the third. "What Iida said, I guess."

Miwa rolled her eyes, gesturing for the trio of teens to fall in line. Their next stop was the Medical Bay.

* * *

"Sssso," Suge hissed, leaning close to Masaki, "how does a Pro Hero like yourself end up visiting Amateur Hour?"

She, Ma, and Masaki were waiting by Hajime's bedside. The latter had his hand firmly intertwined with Hajime's own while she slept. Out of the corner of her eye, Suge clocked Ofuda and Tsuchiko stiffen and lean forward in interest. Ma's children were feasting on little bear-shaped gummies Recovery Girl stocked in her emergency first aid pouches. The elderly Pro Hero was happy to supply (very nutritious) candy to two very polite younglings. The rest of the MH class (excluding Robert, who'd been allowed in to sit with Tsuchiko while she recovered from trauma to her neck) had been ordered to stay outside in the corridor. Even a few of the teachers were waiting.

"What are you-? 'Amateur'?"

Suge scoffed. "Well obviously, none of us are fully-fledged Heroes, nor did most of us attend fancy high schools to earn licenses—hence amateur. So, what's a big shot like you doing here since they weren't allowing Pros in?"

"Oh, I see." Masaki scrubbed a hand through his hair. "I've honestly only known Hajime for a few months, ever since she injured her ribs. I… I trained her up a little bit for this event because she called in a favour, and she asked me to attend. It's, it's, kind of you to say I'm a big shot, but I'm really not. Perhaps if I was, I could have trained her better—made sure she didn't get hurt."

"From what I can tell," said Suge, "Hajime is pretty accident prone. This isn't your fault dude. This isn't anyone's fault, really."

A muffled groan made Suge pause.

"If it's anyone's fault, blame Aizawa. I wouldn't have been stupid enough to fight otherwise," Hajime griped, trying to shuffle her way up the bed to rest against the metal headboard.

"You're awake," Masaki whispered, more to himself than anyone else. "Thank goodness you're awake."

"Yeah?" Hajime replied, somewhat confused.

The door to the med bay swung open. "Oh good, you're up. I brough visitors."

Masaki and Suge readjusted Hajime to her liking. Suge handed her a cup of cool water. Sentaro, shuffled in behind Hajime's Aunt, but Souma hung back. The three Yuuei students (Midoriya, Iida, and Todoroki) waved from the open doorway until Ma gently closed the door.

Masaki frowned at Minamoto, as though he wished to say something scathing. However, he caught himself before he opened his mouth, knowing that—like Suge had said earlier—it was no one's fault, and therefore he had no right to cast aspersions.

"Itou… I…" Sentaro couldn't look her in the eye.

"Shut up. Thankfully Recovery Girl took care of it. While I don't like much about myself, my boobs were alright I guess—and I can still model."

That was why she had said she 'needed' it, Sentaro realised belatedly.

Unable to help herself, across the room Tsuchiko squeaked, "You model?!"

Miwa tossed her nose into the air proudly. "Hajime is the mannequin I use for most of Enso's online product images."

While Miwa went over to Tsuchiko's bedside to show her the site on her phone, Hajime scanned her eyes across those crowded around her. "So, who else is pissed at Aizawa?"

"Whaddya mean?" Suge questioned. Ichi and Ni wriggled about restlessly.

"I mean," said Hajime with a tired sigh, "that there wasn't a debt. There couldn't have been, because only one person would have won anyway. We'd all have had to pay back the tuition costs if he'd not actually been messing with us."

Suge swallowed, feeling guilty. "We um, that is, everyone who was eliminated, were told that there wasn't a debt. But! But we couldn't tell you, and um-"

"You mean that I went through all of this, and you _knew_?" Hajime's eyes had narrowed dangerously.

In a very, very small voice, Suge confirmed that she had indeed known about the debt and had watched Hajime regardless. Masaki, sensing Hajime's distress (his hand, interlocked with hers, had gone numb from how tightly she was gripping it), suggested that the rest of the MH Class should step out for a bit and let Hajime recover for a while.

Sentaro lingered. He looked apologetic, and Hajime had had enough of that. She was tired, and somewhat pained, and therefore cranky.

"I don't blame you, y'know," Hajime told him. She was sick of apologies. "My luck ran out, I guess. Or, I 'spose, I'm not good enough to keep ducking. At least you didn't go easy on me… rival."

The younger man nodded, then wordlessly left the room. Hajime frowned. She thought she'd said the right thing, but apparently, she'd said something wrong like always. Masaki drew the thin paper curtain around the bed tightly shut, as though the flimsy material could block others from hearing their conversation.

"I feel like I should ask you for an apology too." Masaki rubbed his thumb over the top of her hand. It felt nice. "I hoped you wouldn't make it through to the final round, because I didn't want to see you hurt. Then you went and got yourself stabbed."

Hajime huffed. "I get beat up _once_ on the way to buy milk and then suddenly everyone thinks I need wrapping in cotton wool."

"I'm so proud of you, Hajime." Masaki bit his lip. He looked unsure, looked like he was thinking something over. Then, he drew his chin up confidently. "Would you like to train some more, when you're fully healed that is?"

Hajime withdrew her hand from his. Her eyes felt heavy. "I don't know." At his hurt look, she hurried to clarify that it wasn't his company, but the thought of training for the sake of Heroics. "I tried my best because I thought Miwa would be in financial trouble for the rest of her life if I didn't, and it turned out I was being lied to all along. What kind of faith can I place in a system that threatens individuals into risking their lives? And, really, you were really kind to help me, but why waste your time if I'm not going to do anything with it?"

Masaki straightened in his seat. "I became a Hero to help people. Not once have I been lied to. Not once have I regretted risking my life to save others; I am willing to step in, purely because I want to help _and_ because _I can._ If I won't, then who will? _"_

He shook his head. "Can you honestly tell me, down there in that arena, there wasn't a moment where you felt invincible? A time where you felt like you could do anything, help anyone, take anything someone tried to throw at you?"

Hajime couldn't answer him. She was drifting off to sleep again. Something soft and kind of moist brushed across her forehead. She felt safe. "Think on it, Hajime Itou. I'll see you soon."

* * *

Masaki's cheeks, neck, and ears were tinged pink as he left the Medical Bay. He ducked his head at Miwa as she enthusiastically waved him goodbye.

"Did they… did they not realise we can hear every word they were saying?" Miwa whispered to Recovery Girl. Tsuchiko, Robert, and Washi were a little red in the face at being caught eavesdropping. The room had been so quiet that you could hear a pin drop, or, say, someone kissing someone else.

The elderly Pro Hero smiled gummily. "That's the best part."

* * *

Sentaro's journey home should have ended half an hour ago, but he'd dragged his feet from the train station to try and gather his thoughts.

Itou had forgiven him. Said there wasn't really anything to forgive, really, and he couldn't understand it. Why wasn't she mad? Why wasn't she upset that she didn't get to fight him fairly? Why didn't he think to not use his Quirk during their match so that they'd be on an equal footing?

Sentaro ducked into a convenience store. Family run, the owners had known him since he was a tyke. They gave him pitying looks while he bought a carton of strawberry milk and wouldn't take the coins he'd scratted through his pockets to collect, so he mumbled a thank you and retreated.

Once again, he was alone with his thoughts. The heat of the daytime was ebbing away. The streets were quiet. Sentaro forced himself to slurp and think; he'd wandered through a residential park and took up a pew on the swing set laid out for the local children to play on. He pushed himself back and forth, trying to think logically but eventually falling back into a self-loathing brooding session.

The swing next to him creaked and Sentaro all but jumped out of his skin. His hand tightened around the milk carton in fright, shooting a spray that shot mostly through the plastic straw to the back of his throat but still happened to douse the rest of his body as the carton's seals tore under his fingers.

"Grandchild of mine," said the newcomer, "you have done well."

Sentaro shook his head regretfully at his grandfather.

"No?" Grandfather looked disappointed. "You acted with honour. You did not besmirch our family name when you forfeited; you chose your battle well, chose to stand beside a fallen comrade than give into rage. Do not tell me that it was not an easy choice to make, for I have been there myself, child."

"I still hurt her though," Sentaro whispered, feeling like he was five again and both giddy over praise and frightened of the incredibly stern man his grandfather could be. "Itou is Quirkless, but really she's the best of all of us. I didn't want to treat her differently, she's my rival, but-"

"You did not. Had it not been your… rival, but another in your class, and the same proceedings occurred, would you still feel the same remorse?"

Sentaro's face pinched. Not if it was Ofuda, he wouldn't.

"I was taught that to wield a blade is to wield danger, to strike into those who dare oppose you." His grandfather chuckled. "Today, I am glad that you did not. Continue on, young Sentaro. Make us proud."

Sentaro's hands were sticky from the strawberry milk spillage, but he ran a hand through his hair anyway. "Grandfather, why did Itou forgive me?"

"Because you truly _saw_ her, I suppose, and because she knew that you were on the way to be a better person in spite of your mistakes." His grandfather smirked, gesturing to the wedding band on his finger that Sentaro's then Grandmother had forged for him before they married. "Rivals know these types of things, you see."

(Truthfully, Hajime had just been pissed at a different person at the time, and too delirious from pain medication to put up with Sentaro's puppy dog eyes. But if a different home truth got Sentaro Minamoto's groove back, then she certainly wasn't going to poke the proverbial hornet's nest.)

* * *

While Hajime's injuries had been serious, Recovery Girl's Quirk had made short work of the gaping, gushing hole in her chest, though at great detriment to Hajime's energy levels. Even days later she'd felt lethargic. It was a true testament to how useful and how dangerous Quirks could be.

Recovery Girl used the injured party's own energy to encourage rapid healing. That was all fine and dandy, unless, like in Hajime's case, the person who was injured was running low on energy to begin with. For more clarification, a car with lots of fuel in its tank can go for longer, do multiple things, like, play the stereo at full blast with the air conditioning on while making use of the heated seats. A car with little fuel in its tank has to be driven economically, unless the driver makes a stop and fills up on fuel. Hajime had had hardly any fuel left in her tank; she'd used it all dancing out of Minamoto's way. Then Recovery Girl had encouraged Hajime's healing, and her body had shocked itself into a lethargic stupor in compliance to heal.

A car that's running out of fuel will eventually stop and cease to start. Unlike cars, the body can store excess energy (it piles up in fat, waiting to be transformed into energy again when the body needs it). She'd been skinny to start with, if well endowed, but in the days after the Sports Festival Hajime was still tired and found herself having to nip her once well-fitting pyjamas in at the waist with clothes pegs to stop them falling down.

"This is getting ridiculous," she muttered, adding another peg. Two young girls, both looking to be in their mid-teens, were milling around the shop. They would stop and duck their heads together to whisper and look pointedly to Hajime every few minutes, which was fair; Hajime had been on national television a couple of days ago kicking arse and getting her arse kicked.

Didn't make her any less paranoid about the whispering though.

(Third place wasn't to be dismissed also, but Hajime had dumped her bronze medal in a kitchen drawer shortly after arriving home.)

Hajime's jaw popped as she yawned widely, not bothering to cover her mouth. "How tired can I actually be?"

Recovery Girl had recommended no strenuous activity, food rich in slow release energy, frequent snacks to maintain energy levels, and as much rest as Hajime could get. Sitting on the counter at Enso, in her pyjamas no less (Miwa was horrified), was a pretty sweet deal for Hajime.

"Let's give it a couple more days," Miwa called from the stockroom. "I was thinking of holding a post-festival yay-we're-not-in-debt party, but you've not been well."

It still stung. Not her wound, that was healing nicely on its own, but the betrayal—if you could call it that. Perhaps, 'ruse' was more fitting? Having studied for years at university about what made minds tick and morally squabbling about people's choices, both philosophical and political, Hajime could logically agree to why Aizawa had incentivised the MH Class' participation. That did not mean, however, that she agreed to being manipulated for sport. The ethical implications of that alone were giving her headaches whenever she thought about it for more than five minutes.

She was upset that the others hadn't tried to warn her once they had discovered the truth. Hajime would have avoided injury, if they had. Also, what Masaki had said to her, which she only just about remembered in her sleepy haze, was taking its time to process in Hajime's thoughts.

The moment she had defeated Call-me-Bob, in a flail of panicked limbs no less, Hajime had felt triumphant. She had felt like all her mediocre life skills—rather, self-preservation skills when it came to co-habiting with Miwa's strong throwing arm—had presented themselves in a moment of clarity. Hajime had felt pure, unadulterated joy. She'd rubbed someone's nose in it without needing to talk them into circles and existential dread beforehand.

She'd proven her point; Quirkless people could do it too.

And while Hajime was proud of that, and mildly tempted by Masaki enticing her into a Hero's lifestyle, she couldn't help but feel dread rising within her. Something wicked was waiting in the wings to throw Hajime's existence into flux once more; she hadn't felt this way since she was younger, when she was more insecure about familial stability.

The girls were whispering to themselves again. Miwa was distracted with the items she'd pulled out of storage, so Hajime stood up from the stool she was sat on behind the counter, stepping around the glass jewellery cabinet the till sat on, to politely ask the pair to leave if they were going to cause a disturbance. Hajime made it two steps into the shop floor before her peg-fortified pyjamas gave.

Fabric pooled around her ankles.

"I had a feeling that might happen."

Miwa's laugh was like the sharp little yaps agitated Chihuahuas belt out at their overly doting owners. "Is that why you're wearing booty shorts underneath?"

"Can't beat good ol' drawstrings, I guess." By the time Hajime had pulled her bottoms back up and the put the pegs back into place, the tinkling bell above the door had rung and the girls had disappeared. Hajime frowned. She hoped that they wouldn't get more nosy customers in; she could handle the ones that spoke to her boldly, just not the ones who sniggered behind their hands.

"Would you feel up for a party soon?" Miwa asked.

Hajime contemplated for a while. Normally she'd shrink away from any sort of social interaction, but these were her MH brethren. As the adage went, 'Those who pummel each other, pummel together,' or something like that. What Hajime was trying to get at, was that these people had sort of suffered alongside her for the last few weeks, so surely, they all deserved a little celebration?

(There'd be cake too, if she got her way.)

"There'll be cake right?"

Miwa's reply was easy breezy. "Sure. Do you have their numbers?"

Hajime did not have everyone in the MH Class' numbers. She did know someone who did, though. Suge, somehow, had gathered up what sounded like incredibly intimate details and aspects of the MH students' lives without even trying (Hajime had wondered if it was potential blackmail material), and she'd acquired each of their respective phone numbers or email addresses. Hajime was impressed, and kind of scared.

Suge was an incredibly sociable person though, so perhaps it wasn't so much a stalkerish coping mechanism that she had (like how she somehow knew that Kuchigiri had three fillings and a gold-capped molar), and more of an innate need to know the people around her intimately so that she felt safe?

Suge turned out to be the correct person to ask, because soon the RSVPs came rolling in.

Miwa usually dragged Hajime with her into the bowels of Hosu to the grocery stores whenever they made extra on workdays, or were given tips, but this time it was to purchase party accessories and food. Hajime told her aunt not to go overboard when buying stuff, but Hajime was also still lethargic, so their evening jaunts turned into Hajime curling up in the foetal position inside shopping carts while Miwa pushed and piled shopping on top of her niece.

Hajime was only just starting to feel like herself again when she and Hiro took the train to their class the following Saturday morning. The Sports Festival had been treated like their MH session last week, so their actual classes resumed on this day.

"You're okay now?" Hiro said, leg jittering as he took a seat in the crowded compartment. He shot upwards, flustered. "Shouldn't you be sat down if you've been injured?!"

Hajime waved him off; she'd looped her arm through the plastic hand-loops dangling from the roof of the carriage, hoping that if she was upright then the rocking of the train wouldn't send her to sleep the same way it would if she was sat down. "I felt worse when I broke some ribs. Recovery Girl did a pretty neat job, but her Quirk left me over-tired and underweight. I'm fine with standing for a bit though."

A couple of passengers onboard seemed to recognise her but were too polite to cause a scene in a busy train compartment. Hajime could feel their eyes on her. It made her feel itchy. Though he wasn't supposed to, Hiro tapped Hajime's leg with his Quirk. She felt her body stiffen in a semblance of balance and security that she hadn't felt since the Sports Festival.

"You're coming tonight, right Hiro?" inquired Hajime. She had wondered whether Hiro would want to hang out with people older than him. The closest to the teen in age were Minamoto and Ofuda, and even then, there was a good three years or so between them. Plus, there was the fact that Hiro was still deathly afraid of Minamoto's temper.

"I, um," Hiro winced. "Actually, Midoriya and Hatsume wanted to try something out with my Quirk this afternoon, so we're meeting up for a group project. I think, that, er, Todoroki was going to be there too, since he's friends with Midoriya, and they live on campus while I… don't?"

'friends'? Hajime nearly snorted. Is that what they were calling it these days? Still, Midoriya, Todoroki, and Hiro in a room together didn't sound so bad. Hatsume was the wildcard, seeing as Hajime didn't know this person.

"Hatsume's got really good ideas, you know?" Hiro jabbered. "Like, they're pyrotechnical ninety percent of the time, but ingenious when they work. There's no wonder she's Power Loader's secret-favourite child."

"'Secret-favourite'?"

Hiro cracked out a wobbly smile. "That one child that the teacher likes, you know, that can get away with murder. Only, I hope Hatsume doesn't actually kill someone with her inventions."

The tannoy announced that they were nearing their stop. Hiro and Hajime disembarked. "Looks like you're in for a fun afternoon. We'll save you some cake, if you want to call in afterwards?"

It turned out that Hiro didn't live far from the Itous, but with how often Hajime had seen him running for the train in the morning, she wondered why he hadn't been invited to live on campus. Then again, not everyone felt comfortable in a shared dorm environment. She'd been hard pressed living with a minimum of four back in her university days, especially since they shared a scant number of bathrooms.

"If you don't mind the rest joining me, then, I guess we will." Hiro shrugged. "Er, I-I, apologies in advance for Hatsume. She doesn't have any self-preservation instincts outside of those she feels for her babies." Hajime rose an eyebrow. "She means her inventions."

Everyone seemed subtly interested in partying, if you could call crowding into Enso with snacks and a bit of music a 'party'. A 'social congregation'? A maximum of twenty people in one room who happened to like one another's company? Whatever, there was going to be cake.

Aizawa wasn't there yet when Hiro and Hajime arrived at their classroom, so the others were scattered around the room. That was when Hajime received the first few apologies.

Tsurutsuru wiped a greased hand down the back of his neck. "I had to swap shifts with my colleague, since her kid is sick. She's covering for me this afternoon, but I'll be needed for the evening rush so she can get home."

"Mm," Hitomi hummed. She looked to Nanako. "When Suge messaged the other night, I wasn't paying attention to the date. We, that is, um-"

Nanako gave a toothy grin. "We've got a date."

The party guestlist was already three people down already; not expected, but not entirely unsurprising. Hajime was used to rejection. It was the reason Miwa had stopped throwing birthday parties for her.

Then Subako, Komori, and Kuchigiri also declined. As did Call-me-Bob and Tsuchiko.

"I've just checked my phone," Tsuchiko said. "Bobby's parents are flying over here as we speak, so we'll need to pick them up from the airport."

Hajime's faced twitched a little. "It's no trouble."

(There would be more cake for Hajime…)

"I suppose I can be persuaded to attend." Ofuda flicked his bangs out of his eyes. "If only to save your gathering from being a total embarrassment."

How kind of him, Hajime thought.

Ma and Suge were definitely coming. Hiro and his friends were popping in later once their project was done (though were Hatsume, Todoroki, and Midoriya supposed to be off campus unchaperoned if it was so dangerous for them to live outside the school grounds?). Minamoto had nodded at Hajime before she could even ask him, so she supposed that was an emphatic yes. When she cast her eyes over to Souma Souta, he also gave a simple acknowledgment.

Aizawa entered the room. Hajime slid behind her desk feeling disheartened. Then, she realised, this wasn't like her childhood all over again and people weren't declining because they'd found out she was Quirkless; these people had lives to live outside of the MH Class, or maybe just didn't fare well in social situations. That line of thought made Hajime feel a bit better about the refusals.

"So," Aizawa began tiredly behind his lectern, "well done to all of you last week. I've also been informed by Headmaster Nezu that for the foreseeable I will still be leading these sessions." (Suge purred joyfully.) "As you may have gathered from Yuuei's standard Sports Festivals, the event is used to garner attention for our Hero candidates and place them into internships as soon as possible. Although no Pro Heroes or agencies were invited to attend, that did not mean they weren't watching. As it stands, some of you have already been given offers—though I'll get to that later."

Minamoto raised his hand eagerly. "Why not now?!" he blurted, before Aizawa could acknowledge him.

"None of you have personas, names, and uniforms sorted for a start. But more importantly, none of you have made a choice; the Mature Heroics course was offered to adult members of the public looking to make a difference—to bolster Hero numbers in wake of recent events, both to raise public morale and to take the pressure off our youngest generations." Aizawa pinned them all with a level look. "What the signup forms to this course failed to mention is that not all of you are suitable for Heroism: whether through your own choices, capabilities, or temperaments, not everyone in this class will work for the benefit of our country and its inhabitants."

Hajime cleared her throat. "So, it's like the Festival all over again. Most of us are timewasters who won't get anything done unless we're threatened?"

Aizawa pinched the bridge of his nose. He'd need a very lengthy nap after class was over, or maybe a full, fresh pot of coffee and a straw. "This is completely different. Pro Heroics is not something you can do part-time alongside your day job. It's one or the other. You put others lives ahead of your own when you're a Pro Hero. That is the way it is, and how it always will be, and as you can imagine. not everyone can or wants to sustain that kind of lifestyle."

All Hajime was hearing was that the community of Pro Heroes was insular, despite its cultural popularity and influence. If what Aizawa was saying was true—and Hajime suspected there was some truth to it—then how did some Pros end up having families? Why did some model, or have their own products out on sale, if they were so busy protecting the masses?

Ah… Hajime realised. Those were the top Heroes in the country doing that. The ones so assured by their powers that they didn't have to work so hard. Power was a given, selflessness was not. Masaki (Hajime felt her chest twinge) was selfless. He worried about people; he genuinely loved his job. There was no glamour in the work he did, because the public didn't see him that way.

"Each of you, before we reach the penultimate week of this course and send you off on your merry ways, will have to consider this choice. Is the life of a Pro Hero—the true life; the hard work, the pain, the thanklessness—right for you?"

Things were getting serious. Since the beginning Hajime had enjoyed Aizawa's lectures; he knew what he was about, knew the industry, and seemed jaded by it. Even still, there Aizawa was, teaching them about the good and bad things Pro Heroes wrought. If someone had asked Hajime a few months ago whether she'd ever considered a life beyond that of working and living in Hosu, then she'd have said 'No' rather enthusiastically. If the same question were posed to her again, Hajime would have still said 'No.' Only more tentatively this time.

"I wanted to brief you all on the agenda for the next few weeks. Next week we won't be running a standard session. The first half will consist of one-to-one interviews. I want you to think things over for the duration of the week, realistically, and then we'll have a nice little chat." That didn't sound terrifying at all. "We'll break for lunch as usual, but the majority of the afternoon session will be handed over to one of my colleagues. Depending on your choices, you'll either be crafting your Hero names or brainstorming as a group to find alternative work—if you're not already employed, that is."

* * *

The party atmosphere at Enso was more than a little muted. The Gut Feeling—that was what Hajime was naming these sudden twists and lurches her stomach made, as well as the accompanying hinky feelings—hadn't subsided. If anything, post-Aizawa's latest truth bomb, the feeling had grown more intense.

"Cheese and pineapple on a stick, anyone? Pickled onion? Cocktail sausage?" Miwa asked brightly, shunting the plastic tray she held into Souma's chest. Reluctantly, he chose a skewer and held it delicately in his beefy hands, though made no attempt to eat it. Miwa pulled the glittery purple party hat she was wearing from her head; the elastic strap twanged sadly. "Alright. Who died?"

"Our hopes and dreams," said Hajime around her second helping of chocolate cake. Enso's mannequins had more life in them currently than the shop's occupants combined. The others hung their heads.

"That bad, huh?" Miwa's face contorted. She deposited the tray of snacks she held on Enso's counter. "What's happened then?"

"Not all of us are cut out to be Heroes," said Suge. Ichi and Ni wrapped around her waist comfortingly; wrapping and untwining in the same way a child might rub their hand over the fur of their favourite plush toy for reassurance—familiar and likely to make the fabric turn velveteen from the resulting friction.

"What Suge means," intoned Souma, "is that Aizawa doesn't think all of us can commit to being Heroes. We would not have been picked for the course if we couldn't, but others have prior commitments or important work that might be more fulfilling in the long-term. I'm bored of working in an office. Suits annoy me. Heroism seems like my chance."

Ma nodded solemnly. "I could only work as a Hero during the day. The twins are close to going to school, and I'd like to be able to look after them in the evenings."

"I'm thirty-two and unmarried. It's unlikely I'll have kids, because most men are put off by-" Suge looked down at her snake-hands fondly, "-and it's not like I've got much else I can do. Heroics seemed like a good time waster."

"I'm the only one out of my generation in the family to care so much about forgin'. If I don't take up Grandfather's mantle our family traditions will die out; can't help too much though, because my Quirk ain't the same as my elders. Not suited for longevity."

"And I'm Quirkless," Hajime finished, making a sarcastic 'Whoopee!' motion with her cake fork.

"Aren't you forgetting someone?" Washi stated. He'd been sulking all evening, so it was no surprise that the others had somewhat forgotten he was still there. They'd left him be, and even Miwa had offered him snacks and then retreated, because Ofuda had looked ready to bolt if someone so much as looked at him funny. Parties probably weren't his strong suit, much like they weren't Hajime's.

Nobody had asked for Washi Ofuda's opinion, but he was going to share it anyway. "Like… Ms. Yato, I also see no other opportunity for myself. Heroics is one of few options I have, and I'm determined to make it work."

"University, my dude," Hajime whispered, viscerally experiencing something from not that long ago (the others weren't sure if they were happy or terrifying memories). "Go and study something useless for four years and then we'll talk."

Miwa snorted. "Your entire degree scheme was pretty much Existentialism, right?"

"Good times. Idealistic, but good."

Minamoto scratched his head. If one had asked him what the best forging method was possible in today's standards compared to classical modes of crafting, then Sentaro Minamoto would have provided a lecture, sans presentation slides. Currently, however, he was lost: "I'm sorry, but, _what?"_

"Existentialism is a belief emphasising the existence of individual people; it means they choose do to what they want because of their own free will, they're their own person," Souma clarified.

"I mean, basically." Hajime wrinkled her nose. "It goes more in depth the deeper into philosophical debates you get."

There was a beat of silence.

"So," Miwa concluded, "you either decide to go ahead with Heroics, or you don't?"

"Pretty much," said Suge.

A few more minutes passed filled with quiet munching. Food seemed all the more appealing when you were in a funk. Nibbles were especially guilt free, seeing as they were a fraction of the size of original products or made to look small and innocuous. They could be consumed at an incredible rate with minimal remorse, which the consumer would later regret, and the cycle would begin anew.

"You're all capable people though," Miwa hedged, looking at her niece specifically. "So why not go for it? I'm sure Mr. Aizawa knows what he's talking about, but plenty of newly qualified Heroes must back out of that lifestyle every day. You're all adults, you know how the world works. Young kiddies don't."

The MH Class students perked up a little. They were cynical, capable adults. They had lived their lives to various lengths and were unhappy with what they'd lived so far. They could do a Heroes job better than a graduate because they were the ones often working thankless, pressurised jobs; they were the people beaten down over their poor career choices, poor quirks of their genetics, or due to the stagnant culture they lived in.

"That's the spirit!" Miwa dashed across the shop floor, handing each of her party guests a mini cheesecake. (She'd really bought too much when she'd gone grocery shopping for this event, and the Itous would be living off mini buffet foods for the best part of a week…)

Hajime removed the paper casing the desert was sat in, readying to take a bite.

The tinkling bell above Enso's door rang. They were still expecting Hiro and company and had left the shutters up and the door unlocked. It was late enough that customers realised that the shop wasn't trading, and evident enough by the party foods scattered about the place that this was a private function. So, when a stranger stepped through the door, the partygoers defensively stilled; mini cheesecakes at varied stages of being devoured.

"Miwa."

"Mao?!" **[1]**

Mao smiled. The mini cheesecake Hajime was trying to feed into her mouth missed and splattered down her jumper. "It's been a long time… sister. Might we all come in?"

It was the two girls from the other day, Hajime noted as she peered through the shop windows. They were whispering to one another again. Their hair was brown like hers. There skin was just as pale. Little mini Hajimes, but much improved if Mao had decided to hang onto them for so long. They probably had Quirks too. They were Hajime 2.0 and 2.5.

Stood close by on the pavement was a man. Hajime's lower lip trembled. She bit it to keep it in place. It wasn't just any old, random man. That was her dad out there, looking pleased as punch to be visiting the neighbourhood again. He was just as tall as she recalled; still as solidly built and reassuring. Silver now licked at the hair around his temples, but her father looked the same as he had done when Hajime was five and desperately trying to cling onto him.

Suge burst out laughing; folding over on herself and wheezing. She'd caught sight of the two young girls also. "It's like, ahah, oh my, aha, jeez, it's like Deus ex Hajime!"

"Speaking of," Mao said crisply. "Where is my daughter?"

Hajime ground her teeth. "Funny how I'm your daughter now, whereas you didn't want anything to do with me before."

Ma tapped a still chortling Suge on the shoulder and glanced at the others. "Perhaps we should go-"

"No." Miwa stood proudly in her shop, pulling herself to her full height and activating her Quirk. There wasn't a lot she could do to sound authoritative, as diminutive as she was, but this was her domain, not her errant sisters. Miwa looked piercingly at her sister, daring her to defy; "Mao was just leaving."

"You can't just block me from her life-"

"I think you'll find you did that yourself when you gave me full custody," retorted Miwa.

Hajime could not have loved her Aunt more in that moment. Even now, though Hajime was aged twenty-two and able to pick her own battles, Miwa Itou was willing to throw down on her niece's behalf—even against her own flesh and blood.

Mao's lips pursed. She'd had some work done, noticed Hajime. The skin of her mother's face was just as firm as it had been eighteen years ago, and Mao Iwasaki didn't possess a Quirk that allowed her to look ageless. **[2]** Hajime was glad her looks and physicality took more after her father. The children couldn't have been much younger than Hajime herself, maybe in their mid to late teens. Mao and her father, Daisuke, hadn't taken long for the dust to settle (aka. giving away their firstborn) before starting over again in search of the perfect family unit. **[3]**

Daisuke had shuffled the girls inside, though was wary about the company Miwa and Hajime kept.

"Oh, don't you dare bring your kids into this," snapped Miwa, gesticulating at the two girls. "Don't use them as leverage now just because you've seen what I've always been able to see in Hajime."

"And what would that be?" Mao sneered. Ma, Suge, Sentaro, Souma, and Washi looked on in thinly veiled horror and intrigue. The Itous weren't ones to air their dirty laundry in public, but that didn't mean they hadn't got piles of the stuff hidden away, suppressed and festering in multiple cupboards. Hajime had enough internalised trauma that it could be converted into a veritable sustainable energy source.

"Yeah, Auntie Miwa," Hajime interjected humorously. "What would that be?"

"That she's a better, kinder person that you'll ever be, Mao. And I am so proud of what she's achieved. Now, unless there's a pressing reason behind why you would decide to visit suddenly, which maybe doesn't have to do with Hajime's sudden rocket to stardom, then there's the door."

Mao's upper lip curled in defeat. She looked coldly at her eldest child then slipped out of Enso's front door, herding her two other children outside with her.

Daisuke hemmed and hawed at the threshold. "The girls, they, well, they wanted to visit. We'd told them that they'd had an older sister and that we weren't able to care for her as a child, but they recognised her from the Sports Festival the other week and, well, you held up that sign Miwa… I guess… that they just wanted to come and meet their big sister."

("Stupid, stupid, stupid," Miwa chanted to herself under her breath. It had been a mistake to hold up the shop's details on live television.)

Hajime levelled her gaze on her Da- _Daisuke._ "Can you really be someone's big sister if you didn't know they existed? As far as I'm concerned, I don't have any siblings; I've only got Aunt Miwa."

"That's cold, Hajime," Daisuke whispered.

"So were you the day you left me. Still, Auntie Miwa's made up for a lack of parenting. I'd rather be accepted than treated like a lab rat for the rest of my life."

Daisuke swallowed heavily. Quickly curled his hands into fists and just as soon unclenched them. Finally, he looked—truly looked—at his daughter. Nodding to himself, he quietly left the shop to join his family; Hajime would remain here with hers.

"Sooooo," Suge drawled. "Does this happen every time you throw a party, Miwa? Because I have to say, sign me up for the next one if they're usually like this!"

Hajime laughed, but there was no feeling in it. The mirth didn't reach her eyes. She leant down to scoop her forgotten mini cheesecake from the floor. The knot in her stomach hadn't untwisted yet. "Let's steer clear of parties for the foreseeable, yeah?"

The bell tinkled again, and Hajime flinched.

"Um…" Hiro and Co. had arrived. "Is this a bad time?"

"Well," Miwa scrubbed at her eyes tiredly. "You missed the after-dinner show, but the good news its there's still plenty of cake left."

* * *

 **[1]** 真央, Mao: 'real, genuine' and 'centre'; referencing the true nature of Hajime's mother.

 **[2]** Iwasaki, can mean 'stone cape', so altogether, Mao's name suggests that she's hardened, but we should look past this façade to see who she really is.

 **[3]** 大輔, Daisuke: "big, help", which is ironic, seeing as Daisuke was no help at all.

* * *

 **A/N:** So, Hajime didn't win. I never actually inteded for her to win at all. She lived though! (Was it cruel of me to snatch away her possible victory? Probably, but that wouldn't make for interesting reading...)

Also, what's with the Iwasaki family suddenly popping off? Nu-uh, not in my non-canonical Hosu neighbourhood.

Update on my rl troubles; it was just muscular shin splints. I'm fine and up and running (literally) after taking a few days to rest my legs, thank goodness!

* * *

 **Musical inspiration:**

"Crossroads" – Cream, 'BBC Sessions'

"The Runner" – Foals, 'Part 2: Everything Not Saved Will Be Lost'

"Merry Christmas Mr. Lawrence" – Ryuichi Sakamoto, '1996'


	10. The Future

**A/N [4/4/2020] :** Final Chapter! Let's gooooooo! No Beta, and I'm tired, so there's bound to be mistakes.

I hope you're all keeping safe and healthy and **WASHING YOUR HANDS!**

* * *

 **LATE HERO ACADEMIA**

 **CHAPTER TEN**

 **THE FUTURE**

* * *

All in all, things were... well…Hajime couldn't really complain, for once. She'd finally cleared the air (kind of) with her parents, now knew she had two younger siblings, and that she could hold her own in a knife fight. She knew that she wanted nothing to do with the former, and nothing short of needing a miraculous kidney transplant or something would ever get her and her siblings together in the same room again. She also knew for certain that the people currently crowding Enso's shop floor were people she could depend on.

The group had looked at one another for a minute or two, then collectively shrugged their shoulders at Miwa and Hajime's family drama. What family drama? Who needed that? Why not just have more cake? Perhaps it was uncharacteristically polite of them all not to pry, but they didn't. In their eyes, and Hajime's own, the debacle was over and done with.

Hajime moved on with her life. Tried to ignore what was to come in the next few weeks and filled her time with helping Miwa. Heck, she even helped others. Supply runs to the shop were littered with good deeds.

So, she tripped a man with her stupidly long, strong legs while he fled from the woman whose purse he'd stolen? So what.

So, she helped a child fetch their lost ball from a tree in the park? That didn't mean anything, people helped (annoying) kids out all the time.

She chalked it down to random acts of kindness stemming from the disruption of the last eight weeks in her life. (What Hajime failed to notice was the gratitude of those she helped, nor did she see the growing number of thoughtful gazes of those witnessing her kindness.)

So, while Hajime couldn't complain—she'd surrounded herself with lunatics, Miwa would tear the planet asunder in her defence, and did she mention the knife fight?—things didn't quite feel _right_. There were two weeks left in the Mature Heroics course before they 'graduated' and moved on with their lives. Things were getting real.

While sat on the train with Hiro before their penultimate class, Hajime gasped dramatically in realisation.

"What is it? Did you forget something?" queried the teen.

Hajime shook her head. Other than her phone, apartment keys, and some pocket change, she never brought anything big with her to class. She disliked cross-body bags on general because the strap would dig in over her chest, and carrying things meant effort, so she generally crammed everything she needed into a dinky wristlet or her pockets.

Hajime never carried a notebook with her during MH classes. It wasn't the type of class you took notes it, honestly. More so a lecture full of life lessons from the most jaded man in existence.

"I just realised something that goes against every fibre of my moral being and I hate myself for acknowledging it."

"Oh." Hiro blinked. "Is that really a bad thing though?"

Yes, it was, because Hajime had come to the sickening conclusion that once this was all over, she'd be lonely. That she was enjoying herself. She wasn't sure when those feelings had crept up on her and burrowed in deep, but they were there to stay now, and she was desperately wishing that wasn't the case.

After university it had been easy to accept her degree certificates and have a few photos taken. She'd made friends, sort of, with the people she house-shared with, but they weren't close or anything. Hajime hadn't spoken or seen any of her fellow alumni since they'd graduated, and she hadn't minded it. But if the MH Class scattered to the winds Hajime would feel something inside of her aching for their return. Because she would miss them. There she was, eight weeks into a course she had vowed to hate with every bone in her body, worrying about the people she would miss once it was all over.

Hiro was waiting on her answer. Hajime blinked back some of the wetness in her eyes and shook her head. "I… I guess not?"

She trailed after Hiro, disembarked the train, and then made the ten-minute powerwalk to Yuuei from the station. (It was the only way to avoid being late, but walking that quickly played havoc to your calves…)

They made it just in the nick of time, though Aizawa narrowed his eyes at the pair from the other end of the hall as they slipped into the MH classroom. He was moving quicker than usual, and they'd only just avoided being tardy because recently their teacher had realised his beloved yellow sleeping bag could split at the bottom into two little booty-things—for Aizawa, getting from the staff room to teaching wasn't such a chore anymore if he could travel in relative comfort.

Hajime didn't quite know how to classify The Thing Aizawa was inside; not quite a full-footed article of baby clothing, not a hazmat suit, nor truly a sleeping bag. The Thing was an amalgamation of all three. It also gave Aizawa no excuse to remove himself from cosy contentment. Yes, he stripped himself of his yellow cocoon while he was teaching but would immediately dive back into The Thing whenever he could. He'd look pleased as punch whenever he did. Perhaps it wasn't so much a 'Thing' and more of a 'Haven'

Hajime and Hiro were already in their seats by the time Aizawa had extracted himself and his clipboard register from the Haven. Hajime grinned as cheerfully as she could manage at him, knowing that it irked him that they were both scraping by in punctuality.

Aizawa didn't really need to call for their names any longer. They were a small class to begin with, and at this point in the Mature Heroics course it was easier to pick out who wasn't here than to ask who was.

"You know what this week is," Aizawa began gruffly. His fingers riffled through the looping scarves around his neck, tweaking their position against his neck and chest with the fastidiousness of a raven adjusting their plumage. "There's not going to be a lot teaching done today, and I wasn't sure how I wanted to go through with this."

He'd spelled it out for them last week: choose to undergo further training and become a Pro Hero or find a day job if you didn't have one already. Hajime, apart from her concerns about loneliness, hadn't put much thought into making a decision. Naturally she was inclined to say 'No, ta' and move on with her life, but there were blurry memories of her post-Sports Festival stay in Recovery Girl's med bay that were bothering Hajime. Masaki had set the cat amongst the pigeons this time, and Hajime was finding it easier just to ignore the fact that she had to make a choice soon.

Normally Hajime wouldn't bat an eyelash at such trivialities. It had never been her aspiration to be a Hero. She hadn't looked up to them as a child and she didn't favour them as an adult. But there was something that Masaki had said which was niggling her; he'd spouted on about being in a position to help people who can't help themselves, and it had struck a chord with Hajime.

She was someone who, more than two months ago, couldn't help herself. Now she was holding her own in a Quirk-predominant environment. Hajime was, and she dreaded the thought as soon as it entered her mind, in a position where she could help others now. So… should she?

Aizawa was still talking while Hajime had her horrifying little epiphany. "This is how we're going to do things; I've got print outs waiting for me at the office, so while I go and collect them, clear this room of your desks. Push and stack them at the back of the room, then take your chairs and set them in the corridor outside. However, leave two chairs inside. I'll need those."

Before anyone else could ask about why chairs were necessary for the corridor, he said, "You'll be sat outside reading the handouts, and these one-on-ones are likely going to take our whole session. You'd better sit down. In fact, I'm going to grab a coffee before I come back, so go and get yourselves something once you're done with clearing the room; we'll be going in order of your seat numbers, so the first five of you better get moving."

With that, Aizawa had clambered back into his Haven and was waddling away. Sentaro, Washi, Hitomi and Komori (hand in hand and totally loved up), and Hiro followed after their teacher. They were the first five students to receive interviews. The rest of the MH students set to work shifting tables and chairs.

Everyone looked a little bit worried, despite their easy smiles and complacent chatter. Hajime had expected more speculation from some of the more vivacious students about who was going to dive into Heroics. Hideaki and Suge were known to nose into conversations or offer bold opinions, yet today they were quiet and reflective. Suge seemed rather distracted as she tried to shift her desk around, if Hajime was interpreting the distant look on the older woman's face correctly.

Hajime kept watch as Suge helped to move the first few interviewees desks too.

Suge would have Ichi and Ni wrap tightly around the metal frames of the classroom chairs in order to lift them effectively. Sometimes her hand-snakes would lose their grip, and Suge would struggle to keep her hold on the seat. Sometimes it drooped low enough to graze the top of her foot. Sometimes Souma (who could easily lift a stack of chairs with his muscular frame) would grab the chair before it could slip from Suge's grasp and gently prise it away from her.

He thought he was being helpful, but Hajime clocked the irritated sneer her older friend shot at Souma's back.

Suge, like Hajime, had most likely faced her inabilities with a blasé attitude for most of her life. Hajime certainly did, because she was past caring about what people thought of her—because people would always hurt you in the end and it was better not to show them they _could_ hurt you. That didn't mean that Suge was happy with what her body could and couldn't do: she'd never use chopsticks the way that able-bodied people would expect. Lace up shoes were a no-no. Trying to shift furniture that couldn't be heaved about with shunts from her hips and legs was difficult, especially if there was a precise affordance needed to do so.

Hajime could see why Suge looked frustrated. She wanted to do something herself despite herself.

It made Hajime wonder though (not including her own ignored dilemma) if many of her classmates would go ahead with an internship. Suge had always struck Hajime as a barely contained whirlwind; always moving, always smiling, always chatting, never running out of steam. Suge would make a great Hero because of her winning personality and perseverance alone, but was that enough when you became frustrated at your body's abilities and how others perceived you?

The chairs were all in the hallway, bar two. The students had, intuitively, lined themselves up in numerical seat order. The first five students had returned bearing snacks. Aizawa had his coffee and a stack of staple-bound printouts containing dull Pro Hero Legislature and a rough overview of what internships included.

The time to decide was nigh, and Hajime was just a tightly wrapped up in her denial as ever.

* * *

Hajime flinched whenever the classroom door opened and someone walked in or out.

Sentaro had seemed mutely smug once Aizawa had released him from the interview. So had Washi. Hajime took it as a sign that they were both going ahead with the initial plan to become Pro Heroes.

"He's going to look up potential Pros who are interested in taking us on for internships," Washi had told the others. For once, Sentaro didn't grumble when Washi spoke; the older man had only been telling the truth after all. They had strong Quirks and would no doubt have an abundance of offers.

Hitomi and Komori were a different story altogether.

"May we come in together?" Hitomi asked their teacher, clutching tightly to Komori's hand with her own. "It's just, we have a plan, but we'd like to discuss it with you if you don't mind?"

Hajime was torn.

All of these people, who'd she'd disliked and dismissed, were getting on with their lives. Whether that was stepping up to the plate or returning to the occupations they had prior to this mad experience, or even opening up to new experiences. Her classmates were moving on while Hajime was still stationary.

Everyone was curious about what Hitomi and Komori had discussed. While Hiro was called into the dreaded room, they explained their plan.

"Our relationship is very new, but we work well together," said Komori. "We're thinking of setting up a business together: I'm good at finding things and Hitomi can see your future, though only a little-"

"What my better half-" (Komori scoffed) "- _better_ half, I mean it, meant to say, is that our Quirks are useful in stable ways. We're hoping to set up an agency that works alongside Pro Heroes, the Police, and the general public and aid them in any way we can. We're not Pros, we're not the authorities, we're just freelancers, I guess?"

"It sounds interesting." Souma did, for once, sound interested. "But what exactly would you be doing?"

"Whatever needs doing, we guess? Private investigation work mainly? Komori can find objects if they resonate metallically or can be pinpointed by the metals she senses—sort of like how negative space works in art, it draws your attention to what's really there?" (No one really understood what she meant by that, but they nodded along supportively). "I can anticipate what our clients need, or how they'll react to open negotiation with my Quirk. So, I'll be the one dealing with them while Komori does most of the leg work."

The door slid open. Hajime winced. Again.

"You've made the right choice, Hiro." Aizawa clamped a hand on the teen's shoulder before ushering Souma in for his interview.

Hiro licked his lips, eyes darting between his peers' questioning looks. "I'm, I'm not doing it. I entered the Support Department to make support items for Heroes, and I'm going to keep doing that. One day… m-maybe, if it's not too late, I, er might change my mind…"

"There's nothing wrong with turning it down," Nanako told him. "That's what I'm doing."

"Me too," muttered Subako. In a growling voice much like the warning buzz of a swarm of wasps, they continued; "I might have a Quirk suited to this kind of work, but _I'm_ not suited to it."

Tsuchiko shifted in her seat. She wound her arm around the crook of her fiancé's elbow. "Actually, we've both decided to take a step back."

"Mm," Call-me-Bob agreed. "We signed up thinking it would be cool to be a couple who work together, but honestly, just getting married is going to be work enough." Tsuchiko's hold on him intensified. "It's not a bad thing, but why should we throw the added stress of Heroics into married life?"

Tsurutsuru and Hideaki had jobs and prior commitments, so therefore saw no point in following Sentaro, Washi, and a newly released Souma into Pro Heroism. Nanako and Tsurutsuru's interviews were short. Suge was called into the room next.

Hajime wondered what her friend was planning to do. If only she could be a fly on the wall during her and Aizawa's conversation.

* * *

"So, let me get this straight," Aizawa rasped, tapping his pen against his clipboard, which rested precariously against his knee while he crossed his legs. A quick sip of lukewarm coffee soothed the scratchiness in his throat. "You don't want to go into Heroics, but you want to be someone's hero."

"That'sss not what I ssssaid," Suge replied in agitation. Her pronunciation slipped a little as her frustration shone through. She glanced around the room restlessly, trying to get her thoughts in order.

She thought she'd made up her mind, that she'd be doing the right thing if she became a Pro Hero, but what use was another gimmicky Hero if Suge could be making a difference elsewhere? There had to be thousands—tens of thousands!— of kids and adults who struggled like she did because of their Quirk. What about those who didn't have Quirks, too?

Suge had thought a lot about this over the past week. She knew Hajime, knew what the early years of her life had been like, and Suge hated what her friend had experienced. Suge was also dispassionate about the limitations of her Quirk. While she'd never wish to Ichi and Ni to simply vanish (she'd never wish for that), there were times when having hands—actual, functioning, tactile hands with opposable thumbs—would be better than two snakes.

She'd come to terms with her Quirk though. Finally. After many years of frustration and rejection. But Suge was thirty-two. She had more than a quarter of a century's worth of dealing with ableist bullshit to know that adding a Hero with snake-hands to the roster wouldn't make a lick of difference.

Someone with political nous, who could work the field and liaison with governments, Pro Heroes, and the public (like Komori and Hitomi had said earlier) was invaluable. The world needed more mediation, and Suge Yato had decided she was going to be the one to galvanise people's outdated ways of thinking.

"I think," Aizawa drawled, once Suge had stiltedly told him of her plans, "that you're going to trounce the world."

"Aww, Senssssei, you flatterer."

* * *

It wasn't long before Hajime was being called in to Aizawa's makeshift interview room, but she stubbornly refused to move from her seat int eh corridor.

"I'm sorry, I'm, er, still trying to make up my mind. Would it be okay for me to be called in later?"

Aizawa ground his teeth together slightly but agreed. "You have until I'm finished with Hotai, and no longer."

Hajime had, at most, forty-five minutes until she made up her mind. Ignoring the worried glance of the others, she fished her phone out of her pocket and made her way outside. She needed some advice and knew exactly who to call. The problem was, would they even pick up?

Staring at Masaki's details in her contact list dazedly, Hajime's finger hovered over the call button. She gnawed at her lower lip. Something didn't feel right. She put her phone back into her pocket. Scrubbed her hands through her hair.

She really didn't know what to do. It would be so easy to just go back to what she was doing before. Employed via nepotism by Miwa as a shop assistant and sometimes-model. It would be very easy, if she put the effort in, for Hajime to scour advertisements for another, better-paying job (though whether she would get said job thanks to her Quirklessness would be another matter). It would not, however, be easy to waltz into that interview room and tell Aizawa she was actually insane and had mixed opinions about spandex.

Hajime thought of Masaki again.

She couldn't really remember what he'd said to her, back in the infirmary. Just that he'd looked sad over what she'd said, which, coincidentally, Hajime didn't remember saying either. It had Hajime thinking though. Why was he disappointed? Had she told him about how scared she was to go any further? Had she been arrogant?

Hajime paced back and forth, hand brushing against the pocket her phone was snuggled in. Realistically, if she called Masaki now, he'd likely be on duty. Manual was a lower-ranked but beloved Hero; he was kind, willing to help everyone.

It was admirable, Hajime supposed, that one person could be so selfless. She wasn't sure she could be the same way if it came down to it. Manual kept on giving and giving, and from what Hajime had witnessed he didn't expect anything in return. No mention of ratings, not wanting to be the best. Just wanting to help people. The question was, who helped Manual—who helped Masaki—when selflessness wasn't enough?

"Itou, I thought I told you that you had until I was finished with Hotai?" Hajime startled. Where had her time gone? As if he could read her thoughts, Aizawa said, "Takahashi and Usakichi came in together, and Hotai didn't take long to make up their mind. I'm waiting on you now, Itou. Clocks ticking."

"Ma made a decision already?"

Aizawa snorted. "Hotai has been dead-set on being a Hero since week one, what did you expect?"

That made sense. Ma had a vision; they wanted their children to be able to look up to 'Mummy Man', and making that reality was what had led Ma into participating in the Mature Heroics course. Their young children were beginning to start nursery school soon, so Ma could feasibly work day patrols during school hours until the twins were older and able to care for themselves.

"C'mon Itou, it's not so difficult. You don't even have to tell them what you want to do. Keep it to yourself for all I care," said Aizawa, steering her back in the direction of the MH classroom. "It's as simple as 'Yes' or 'No'. Don't _think_ , just _answer_. Hajime Itou, do you want to be a Pro Hero?"

Her answer had him smiling like a mad man.

* * *

"Welcome to Week Ten." Aizawa looked tired.

That was not to say that he never looked tired, in fact, exhausted seemed to be his default expression. Any opportunity to sneak a nap was taken, but today… today he exuded the energy of a man who was beyond sleep. It was manic; the picture of someone desperate for a snooze, but propping their eyelids open with matchsticks because who needed sleep if you could mainline coffee for forty-eight hours?

It was sort of worrying. Hajime expected him to collapse at any second.

"I've called in a lot of favours this past week. Be grateful." The MH Class nodded. As if they were going to agitate a person already on the edge. "Here's how we're going to do things today: those of you who declined and have prior employment or commitments, you will be the support team for your peers who are seeking employment or need advice. Those of you who are seeking… different avenues, I've arranged for a guest to speak with you. And for those of you aspiring to be Pros, I again have another guest ready to lead you through persona creation and internships."

Washi raised a hand and waited politely (that was something Hajime never thought would happen, Washi Ofuda being _polite_ of all things) for their teacher to acknowledge them. "Have we received offers or are we going to have to ask for suitable placements?"

"Some of you have received offers, thanks to the festival we held. Some of you are going to have to inquire about positions, or at least ask your guests if they have enough clout to wangle a placement for you."

The door to the MH Class slid open, and two very familiar presences slipped inside. The last Hajime had heard of Present Mic and Midnight, they had been screeching at the top of their lungs during her match with Minamoto. Excitedly at first, and then in horror, shortly followed by Midnight calmly taking the mic and requesting medical assistance in the field.

Sure enough, Midnight's eyes caught Hajime's, and a coy little smile was aimed at the latter.

Hajime scrubbed at her neck with the nail of her index finger. Was it getting hot in this classroom or was it just her?

"Yato, you're with Present Mic. Go… talk it out I guess?"

Suge stood from her desk, shoving her chair underneath it neatly with the side of her right calf. Present Mic grinned cheerily at the front of the room, waiting on her to make her way through the rows of other desks to him.

"How's coffee and a chat sound?" the Pro Hero asked.

"Fine by me, so long as you don't mind me recording our conversation." Suge glanced dramatically at Ichi and Ni. "I'm not a traditional note-taker."

Present Mic, cackling, allowed Suge to lead the way to the cafeteria.

Softly, Aizawa crouched down beside his lectern. He smacked his head against his folded knees once, flexed his fingers as they knotted themselves in his long scarf, and sighed. "This was a bad idea." He straightened up. "Midnight, take Minamoto, Ofuda, Souta, Hotai, and Itou… somewhere, please."

"With pleasure," she responded with a purr.

Whispers from the remaining MH students erupted throughout the room. Eyes followed Hajime Itou as she collected a small notebook and mechanical pencil from the surface of her desk and hurried from the classroom. She was followed by Ma, a leisurely-but-beaming Sentaro, a mildly surprised Washi, and an indifferent Souma.

"I had no idea she was going for it," Hideaki announced to the curious people in the room. While not as close to Hajime as Suge and Ma, they had been desk-mates for the better part of two months, which obviously meant that they'd connected. Hajime hadn't said anything after her interview with Aizawa, which the others assumed meant she was going back to civilian life after all.

Hardly surprising, given that she was Quirkless.

A small part of the MH Class, which had viewed Hajime holding her own throughout the Sports Festival, which knew what she had gone through as a child, and that had grown to know Hajime Itou as a person, had hoped that she would continue. It was a small, fragile belief that was easily overlooked in the grand scheme of things, especially when these were such frightening times.

That hope had kindled though; Hajime Itou had stood and would continue to stand alongside those considered the strongest in their class.

Souta, Minamoto, and Ofuda were monsters; cunning, powerful, and swift, respectively. Ma, not so much, but the unknown capabilities of their power made them a force to be reckoned with. So, Hajime standing alongside them was a welcome surprise. The MH Class would lend her their full support.

"Itou is a wildcard," Aizawa stated. "However untested she may be, she's adaptable enough to persevere. We all know now what she was capable of during the Sports Festival—when she's pushed—but what can she do of her own volition?"

It was a scary thought to think. The Quirkless minority had been overlooked because, well, they were Quirkless. Stereotypically, they had nothing to offer to society because of such deficiencies. Hajime had blown that well and truly out of the water a few weeks ago. Sure, she'd lost during a knife fight, but who would have thought a Quirkless person using logical solutions to Quirk-based problems could be such a stimulating thing?

Hajime was doling out her own brand of hope; she symbolised all that society thought was wrong but would in turn use that to her advantage to fight new wrongs. It was… humbling.

Meanwhile, Hajime had the sinking feeling that she'd made the wrong choice. She was unaware of the new admiration her peers (and a small selection of the general public) held for her, and ultimately more concerned by the fact that Midnight had led them to Yuuei's Support Department in order to talk costumes.

Hajime had, in wild abandon she'd killed almost as instantly as it had taken hold of her, thought of a suitable Hero name. What she didn't get was why it had to be such a big thing? Midnight was turning their guest lecture into a christening of sorts. Only, this christening had a lot more snacks, spandex, and sassiness than it did babies.

Their 'guest lecturer' for the day had already arranged internships for Souma, Sentaro, Ma, and Washi. Hajime was the odd woman out, she supposed. Souma had been assigned the Pro Hero: Wash. Both of their Quirks could physically manipulate elements, in turn damaging or lifting heavy items (such as people). It was rumoured that Wash could hold several people in the air with their Quirk, so Souma would have his work cut out in order to step his Quirk abilities up a notch.

Washi would be paired up with the traditional-looking enigma that was Yoroi Musha. Mayhaps their background and disciplined aspects of traditional culture would work in the favour of that particular mentorship.

Finally, Ma and Sentaro's mentor, the Pro Hero: Edgeshot, would be acquiring a hot-headed intern and a bandaged enigma. The latter had expressed interest in Minamoto due to the fact that they could both use their bodies as weaponry but was also intrigued by Ma's Quirk. Though Sentaro was limited by how quickly his hair would grow back in, he was skilled with he blades his hair could produce. Edgeshot used his body, quite literally, as a weapon; flattening and extending parts as necessary. They had a mutual respect for one another's proficiencies. Ma was an unknown, but powerful. Edgeshot dealt in secrecy and mystery—his aesthetic was that of a ninja—so what effect could someone possibly trained in the ninja arts have on a person with such a mysterious air?

What irked Hajime a little (more than she'd care to admit), was the fact that all of these Pros coming forward to claim her classmates were extremely popular. Top-ten ranked Heroes, in fact. It rankled Hajime a little that all of her, able-Quirked, _male_ peers and Ma had internships lined up for them while she was going to have to do a little begging. Or rather, she'd sic Midnight on someone if she could stop herself from stuttering around the woman for more than five minutes.

The guys and Ma also had pretty fitting names. Midnight was running a bit of a round-robin, asking each of them to take turns and share their Hero names so that she could either applaud or veto their creativity.

Ma had always had a name in mind. Midnight admired their determination.

Sentaro was to take on the mantle of 'Épéiste' continuing the theme of his foreign-sounding Quirk name with a Hero persona to follow suit.

Souma had come up, with a little help from Midnight, 'Stratus' after the name given to low-levelled clouds; given enough time and effort, maybe Souma could manipulate the clouds one day?

Washi's Hero name had been a little more difficult. His Quirk, Talisman, posed a bit of a problem. Had it been called anything else, then he may have been able to use 'Talisman' as a working name. 'Omamori' gave off the wrong impression; Washi Ofuda was a not a good luck charm, and he wasn't limited to making those kinds of items with his Quirk. Midnight, after a quick rethink, proposed the name 'Charm'. Washi could charm people with his dramatism and his Quirk produced a variation of traditional paper talismans, or charms, to ward off unwanted spirits (or Villains). It seemed fitting.

"And now, finally, what about you, Mega Milk?" Try as she might, Hajime hadn't been able to shake Midnight's nickname for her ever since the t-shirt she'd borrowed from the Pro Hero.

Hajime toyed with the sticky note she'd written her name down on in hurried characters before leaving _Enso_ that morning. "'Hajimeru'," she said finally. "My name means 'start', 'Hajimeru' means 'to commence'. I thought it was fitting, seeing as I'm finally doing something with my life."

Were Hajime's eyes playing tricks on her, or was Midnight tearing up a little? "It's beautiful!" the Pro cried, scrunching up her body to clasp her hands under her chin mock-adoringly. "Transcendental! An auspicious start!"

"…Sure…"

The others were all sorted, so while Midnight ushered them into a corner to think about uniform and gear designs, Hajime was tasked to find herself an internship mentor. An online and frequently shifting list of all of Japan's Heroes, ranking from Number One all the way down to who-knows-where, was pulled up on Hajime's phone. She scrolled through it listlessly, tapping on occasional names that were of interest and reading their profile before scrunching up her nose and exiting back to the ranking board.

"Any luck?" Hajime shuddered as Midnight's cheek brushed close to her ear. The Pro had slung her upper body over Hajime's shoulders to get a closer look at the list.

She shook her head. "None."

Midnight hummed. "I think, if he weren't about to grey prematurely, that Aizawa would take you on as a student. He likes them cynical."

Hajime wasn't so sure that Aizawa would be the one with grey hair in that situation. It would likely be her from all the mind games he played. "I was thinking someone smaller, rank-wise. I… I shouldn't have to, but I need to play to my strengths. I can't fight back with the same skill as the others, so I should stick to small-time Heroes."

"Oh, don't limit yourself, darling." Midnight swished a manicured hand about in a sort of 'pish-posh' manner. "Though I get what you mean. It's not about being big, it's about what you do with it."

(Could a hole open in the ground and swallow Hajime up, please? Before her face could get any redder would be perfect.)

"Ma-Manual," she found herself stuttering. "He'd be perfect."

The Pro Hero shifted on her feet. She stalked sensuously to the other side of the table Hajime was sat at so that she could stare the latter down. A knowing smile lifted her glossy lips. "To you, I'd say he already was."

* * *

Miwa was giddy. It was worrying. Hajime had arrived back to Enso to find her Aunt hopping around the shop floor gleefully. She nearly turned on her heel and took the next train back to Yuuei.

"Did you have a good day?" her relative almost sang.

Had it been a good day? Hajime wasn't so sure. Midnight had finished off their session with a quick recap about aesthetics. Sentaro and Washi could follow alongside adaptations of traditional wear, repurposing bulky style for motifs and functionality. Washi insisted on keeping billowy sleeves as part of his design, stating that they were needed to achieve the proper use of his Quirk (or, as Hajime saw it, so Washi could be dramatic). Sentaro needed his uniform to be sturdy yet flexible; free movement around his arms was necessary, and he needed the pieces and fabric to be able to flow with his body while he used his blades.

Ma could wear pretty much anything, so long as it didn't impede the movement of their bandages. Something loose-flowing or draping like a toga to keep the body from being immodest (though why that mattered seeing as Ma's body was wrapped up in bandages Hajime wasn't sure), would work just fine. A few protective plates here and there, and the look would pull together. Midnight suggest an 'androgynous pharaoh' theme.

Souma hadn't really had a preference. Together the group had narrowed it down to a few colours, like greys and blues. Prior Heroes (and up-and-coming students) with Air manipulation Quirks favoured blue, but so did water-based Quirk users. Eventually Souma chose grey, though wrote down a few notes for Yuuei's support department: he did not want a solid colour; clouds varied and so would the design. If dyed fabrics or paint jobs on his gear were discoloured or patchy, he didn't mind. Midnight also said he should include a small cape.

"Wouldn't that be dangerous? In case it gets snagged on something or it's used against you?" Hajime had said hesitantly and Souma's face paled.

"What if it was made of a lighter material? Something gauzy—like organza?" Midnight seemed to be on to something. "That way, it's easily ripped off during a fight, like my suit! Also, if it's floaty, it'll tie in with your theme."

And so, an organza cape was added to the design brief.

Hajime knew that her own design had to be unique to her, but well, she wasn't sure what made her unique. Her Hero name was all about 'starting' or 'commencing', but ironically, she'd had no idea where to begin.

Souma, repaying the favour for her input in his cohesive uniform design, said, "What about something based on racing signals? The flags they use during races to send messages to drivers?"

Minamoto scratched at stray stubble on his chin. "Like the check thing?"

"That's the finishing flag, moron," Ofuda snorted.

Midnight snapped her fingers. "That could work if we tweaked the colours. How about blue, white, and orange?" she asked, and Hajime choked on her spit.

A black and white checkerboard wouldn't work, and it wouldn't be entirely fitting. Hajime's skin tone and hair colour would be too mousy against the bold pattern, so all the public would see was a walking checkerboard. Blue, white, and orange were manual's colours though.

"What are Heroic colours, even?" Hajime said cryptically. The internet said blues, reds, whites, and yellow. Green sometimes, too, but all too often green was associated with villainy. "Could I try a red checkerboard then?"

"You don't want to go overboard with it though—tasteful highlights and all that," Midnight added.

Hajime's design brief followed the lines of racing signals, with the aforementioned red and white checkerboard. She had requested a slight platform to the boots she would wear, also red, knowing that it would help her feet in the long term. Wearing heels all day could really do a number on your posture (and not a good one), but so could wearing thin-soled flats. Sure, they were flexible, but wouldn't supported and comfy feet feel better during a long patrol shift?

(Hajime was beginning to think about patrol shifts now, what even was her life?)

Her suit, therein, would also be red, but with the checkered design striping up the outside of her legs and fading out around her knee to meet the tops of her boots. Flexible armoured plating, in a complementing shade of blue to the red, would protect the tops of her thighs, knees, chest, and arms. Midnight snatched the piece of paper Hajime was scribbling her design brief on and added her own adjustments. She wouldn't allow Hajime to see what she'd done, stating that it would be 'a surprise!'.

"Hajime? Anyone home?" Miwa called.

"I guess it was good?" Hajime answered, not entirely sure of her answer. "We got uniform stuff done, and Midnight is going to try and track down an internship mentor for me."

They hadn't spoken any more about Manual, but Hajime had a feeling that it wouldn't be the last she heard of that topic. Especially if Midnight dropped in to see the Pro Hero in person about internships. Hajime wasn't really certain if they were on speaking terms, seeing as what she could remember from post-stab wound was fuzzy (at best), and they hadn't spoken since.

Doubt curled inside her. Nasty thoughts—which she knew weren't true but she listened to anyway—like Manual leaving her alone now because she was Quirkless and unable to stop herself from being stabbed, or the traitorous whisper that she was just being silly for thinking he'd want to take her on as an intern, circled through Hajime's head. It wasn't true. Not one bit. She knew that deep down, but it didn't stop a frown from settling on her face.

Miwa glanced up from where she was checking over the money in the till, took one look at her niece, and raised one brow quizzically. "You're thinking too hard."

That was Hajime's invitation to stop doing so and to spill the metaphorical beans. "What if I'm a sucky Hero?"

This was a system they'd invented when Hajime was younger and still coping with her parents abandoning her. Miwa wasn't a mind reader, but she was meticulous about minute detail. Even the slightest unhappy wrinkle or hidden glint of sadness on Hajime's person would be confronted in the only way a no-nonsense curator and fashionista could manage: Bluntly.

If you couldn't share your criticism or constructiveness in a straightforward manner, then what was the point? People would only end up more confused in the long run. The same method worked for confronting pesky things like _feelings._ You could call Miwa brusque, or accuse her of being heartless, but by living as she did her honesty and openness was often overlooked. Finding the heart of the problem and talking about it with confidence had worked since Hajime was nine. It had worked throughout her apathetic teenage years, the multiple dodgy boyfriends Miwa had acquired and lost over the years, and still worked as Hajime, age twenty-two, fretted about her future.

"You're not going to be." Miwa was certain.

"But, suppose I am-"

"You're not going to be," Miwa affirmed. "Try and deny it, but you're starting to like this whole Hero thing aren't you."

Hajime ducked her head. She'd been caught.

It was true that she was coming to enjoy the Mature Heroics course, and that she was interested in Aizawa's lectures (he gave excellent lectures, and always made sure to give equal weight to either side of the topics and issues they covered in class), and that she was enjoying kicking the stuffing out of sand bags during the MH mandatory gym class. She'd come to enjoy meeting new people and making new friends. She'd discovered abilities she'd never thought she was capable of, considering Hajime was, technically, 'ability-less'.

What worried her, surprisingly, wasn't what people thought of her because of her lack of Quirk. If all people were going to be hung up on was that, then they should find better things to complain about. Hajime was worried about letting people down.

Call it an affect of being pushed out of one family unit and then trying desperately (and in vain) to enamour yourself into another. Not that Miwa had regretted taking Hajime in, thus prompting her need to ingratiate herself. No. It was more like Miwa loved her niece already, and Hajime went out of her way to make sure Miwa had no say in _not_ doing so, although the older woman loved her unconditionally. Hajime was conditioned from a very young age into a people pleaser, and probably always would be one. It didn't show through her façade very often; Hajime made sure of it. She was Quirkless, not a spineless, hopeless case. Though during certain times of great stress, the need to make sure she was liked (and safe) rose up to the surface again.

"I think you need to take a step back and calm yourself for a minute while I give you some advice," said Miwa softly. "Can you take a deep breath for me?"

Hajime nodded.

"Feeling calmer? Okay, then I'll begin. You're not going to 'suck' at being a Hero. That's why you're going on an internship; to help you not suck. I bet all young Heroes suck at heroics before they become Pros. They're fast tracking a license for you so that you can learn on the job, and whoever you get sent to work with won't let you screw up too badly."

"That's just the thing though, everyone else all had internships arranged for them and no one even wanted to come forward for me. Is it because I'm Quirkless? Its because I'm Quirkless, right?"

Miwa wasn't going to beat around the bush. "It might be," she said, and Hajime's shoulders drooped. "However, would you really want to be paired up with someone who a) wouldn't care about you because you're Quirkless and wasn't invested in your learning, or b) only cared about you being Quirkless to better their charitable image?"

Hajime groaned. "That's gross."

"That's people." Miwa shrugged.

"Midnight asked me if there was someone I'd like to ask about an internship, and there was, but they haven't got back to Midnight yet or she would have rung me by now."

And, because Hajime's life had become a sick sort of cosmic joke six months ago, her phone rang. Only, it wasn't Midnight. It was Masaki. Miwa squealed, as Hajime ducked out of the shop to answer her phone.

"Um… hi?" 'Umm… Hi'? Was that the best Hajime could do.

 _"Hi. I've just had a really weird conversation with an R-rated Hero."_

"O-oh?" Hajime was really killing this conversation so far.

 _"Mm,"_ Masaki hummed. _"I thought you didn't want to train with me anymore?"_

Cheekily, Hajime huffed in response. "I'm entitled to change my mind. The question is, do you still want to train me?"

 _"Naturally, yes. You're bringing pastries this time though."_

* * *

Hitomi and Komori's engagement party came roughly a year after they celebrated their new freelancer firm, _Kotomi_. That had been an exciting party itself, seeing as it was the first time in quite a few months that the first Mature Heroics graduates had all met up in person. They'd been celebrating the new office premises the couple had transformed into their agency-come-freelancing firm. _Kotomi_ was a jumble of both of their names, but the characters on the metallic storefront sign could be read as 'beautiful'.

"We're beautiful together," said Hitomi as looked at the love of her life sappily.

They'd worked hard to negotiate contracts from Pro Hero agencies and the Government, but it had all paid off in the end. Komori and Hitomi had also taken on a recently unemployed Hideaki Kuchigiri as a member of full-time staff, which the latter couldn't thank them enough for.

("If you guys ever need a surrogate or whatever, I've been told I'm very fert-"

"We're fine thank you!"

"Yeah, if we wanted a surrogate, we'd have asked Souma actually.")

Souma had been suspiciously quiet and wary of the couple since that first party, often hanging close to Ma or… anyone else for that matter. The engagement party was in full swing, and the majority of the MH class had been able to switch off for the night and celebrate. Souma, Ma, Minamoto and Washi were all out of uniform and off the patrol roster that evening.

Tsurutsuru had catered the event free of charge. Minamoto and Washi were buffet table hoggers, egging each other on to eat as many finger foods as humanly possible. Ma had to bring the twins along and then leave early, all because their babysitter had cancelled, and it was soon to be bedtime. (Souma was left to Hitomi and Komori's mercy.) Nanako and Subako were still job hunting, Hiro was panicking about an upcoming midterm and bemoaned the fact that he was seventeen and not old enough to get black out drunk (if only to stop studying for a night), Tsuchiko and Call-me-Bob were making the last few preparations before they married in the following spring. They'd arranged, cancelled, then rearranged their plans to accommodate the small bump Tsuchiko's stomach was sporting.

Suge had turned up to the engagement party half an hour late, dressed in a power suit and a triumphant smirk, which settled confidently on her lips and the scaly gums of her hand-snakes like it was meant to be there. Ichi and Ni looked resplendent and glossy, their scales buffed to perfection. They'd shed recently.

"Things are going well," she drawled, drawing Hajime into a quick embrace. "I'm making a difference, I'm sure of it."

If Suge was sure of it, then the news and several frightened politicians certainly were. Aizawa sort of rued the day he encouraged her, but he couldn't be prouder at the sight of Suge Yato stomping all over Quirk Rights in her wickedly high stiletto heels.

Everyone could relax, drink, eat, and be merry, but Hajime. She was in uniform, having only been able to abandon her patrol thanks to Manual and another intern covering for her for a few hours.

Things had been tough after Masaki's fateful phone call. Hajime and everyone she talked to throughout the process had warned her that Pro Heroism wasn't easy, and though she'd balked and raved and cried a lot over the last year, here she was in her suit and plating. An angular red mask sat snuggly against her nose and surrounded her eyes. Her choppy hair had been sliced into a neatened shape by an experienced hand.

Hajime looked older. Mature and dangerous. Red was her colour.

She was stronger now than she had ever been before, both physically and mentally. She was a Hero to people. She felt like a Hero.

Wasn't that a shocker? The Quirkless girl given away by her own mother and father had accomplished everyone's secret dream; to be a Pro Hero, regardless of the hand life dealt them. Hajime hadn't set out for this to happen, in fact, she'd gone out of her way to hate Heroics. Quirks only caused pain. People with Quirks likely always caused pain.

The people in her life, like Miwa, Suge, Ma, the MH Class, her rival, and… Masaki, they'd helped her a lot. Hajime could trust them without question. She had no need for people like her mother and father, nor did she want them in her life. She was twenty-three, and she had things to do in and with her life. (If one of those things happened to be Masaki, then Hajime wasn't telling.)

Hajimeru had worked with Manual for roughly eight months as a full-time intern before he and the governing body for Heroics—as well as a small invigilating panel from the Yuuei staff roster—had deemed her fit for active service. That meant that Hajimeru was a fully fledged Hero. She teamed up with Manual, her senior and partner, for duties and could hold her own against Épéiste, Stratus, Charm, and Mummy Man. Her public opinion was skyrocketing, but Hajime wasn't in it for the fame.

Manual hated going out alone. He'd hated it ever since the Hosu Incident nearly two years ago now, when Heroes were being killed left right and centre, he'd misplaced his then-intern, and managed to lead a Quirkless civilian woman into danger all in one night. Masaki had never forgiven himself for that.

Just as she had thought before giving her answer to Aizawa, who funnily enough, was also lurking by the buffet table and watching Washi and Sentaro's antics with thinly veiled horror, Masaki needed someone to watch his six. Manual hated going on patrol alone, but Manual was selfless and would do so if it meant saving lives. Hajimeru existed to serve the public, sure, but she also offered a modicum of comfort for her senior partner.

Being a Hero wasn't easy. You had to be selfless, or you weren't being Heroic for the right reasons, or so Masaki had told her. Hajime could have quite easily turned Heroism down, took the easy road.

She told Masaki this, and he said; "In the end, do any of us ever take the easy road? If it is the right thing to do, if it can help, isn't that better?"

"No, but I suppose if I can keep an eye on generous idiots like you then my life's work is done, I guess," she'd retorted, and his eyes had softened in response.

Hajime's phone buzzed inside one of the handy thigh holsters included with her uniform. She fished it out, suddenly tense. Her patrol alerts were set to come through it, she had several missed messages, and now Masaki was calling her.

Hajime had a lot of cool (read: lethal) support gear in her arsenal. The checkered gloves she wore had hidden, though mild, tasers in the fingertips, activated only when she felt threatened or needed to quickly incapacitate an enemy. Handcuffs—and she'd tried her best to not flush along with Masaki as she found the 'surprise' Midnight had placed in Hajime's design brief, and failed—and zip ties to held bind fallen enemies, a rudimentary first aid kit, a wind-up torch, and a of sheet stickers she'd hand out to inquisitive children and well-behaved adults filled her holsters.

"I'm sorry, I didn't hear my phone," she whispered apologetically into the receiver. Hitomi and Komori were raising a toast to the future. She had to be quiet.

 _"It's okay, it's just there's a house on fire and while I've got dousing the flames covered, I can't send my intern in on their own to rescue people."_

Suge sent Hajime a questioning glance, and she smiled thinly back. If she didn't get there soon, then Masaki was going to struggle to keep civilians and his intern safe. "How far away are you?"

 _"From Kotomi's? Ten minutes or so? I've got emergency services on the way, but it'll be a while before they can help with an evac."_

"Great, I'll start running, shall I?" She turned to Suge, who was chasing a curly straw around the rim of a champagne flute with her tongue. "I've got to go. Duty calls."

* * *

 **A/N [3/4/2020]** **:**

In early 2018 I had an idea for an OC. That idea then turned into multiple OCs. Then it turned into a whole class of OCs and a vaguely plot-related BnHA fic to celebrate five years of writing fan fiction.

Thank you for sticking with me for so long, and for taking the time to read this story two years in (or any of my stories, really). I kind of didn't want this fic to end, but I'm not so invested in BnHA anymore, and I'd told myself that ten chapters was the limit. I'm always open to your interpretations and theories of Hajime's future adventures though!

I've really appreciated your comments and kudos, so, thank you once again for all your support.

-Yuilhan

* * *

 **Musical Inspiration:**

"Quicksand" – La Roux, 'La Roux'

"The Walker" – Fitz and the Tantrums, 'More Than Just a Dream'

"Love Me For The Weekend" – Party Pupils, MAX, and Ashe, 'Love Me For The Weekend (with Ashe)'

"Blue Monday" – New Order, 'Singles (2016 Remaster)'

"Danger" – Jucee Fruit, 'Birds of Prey: The Album'


End file.
